The Accidental Love Letter
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Set after TAB. After his one-way mission reprieve, wanting to prove he hadn't forgotten about her, Sherlock decides to give Molly the sealed farewell letter he had written for her, not knowing its contents because he was high when he wrote it. Only M-rated for sensual, non-explicit love scene in final chapter. (RoLD series, part 10). Sherlolly, of course.
1. A Letter for Molly

Cover image by **Elizabeth Robello**. As usual, my thanks!

* * *

Sherlock expelled a sigh of relief as he arrived at the outer door of 221B Baker Street, and the flat he thought he had vacated for the last time. Even through his now receding drug-induced haze, he recognised it was a miracle. He had received a reprieve from the guillotine at the last minute, at least that was what it seemed like.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door to his peremptory knock. She blinked in surprise and exclaimed, "Sherlock, you told me you were going away on a six month mission and your brother gave me a cheque in advance to cover the rent. What on earth happened? Why are you back?"

Sherlock's lips curved upwards. "Last-minute cancellation, Mrs. Hudson. It appears I have more important concerns here in London."

Mrs. Hudson stared at him wide-eyed, even as she moved aside so he could step in with his case. "Is it anything to do with that funny picture of that nasty man, the dead one, that came onto my television screen unexpectedly a short while ago?"

"One and the same. Moriarty is dead, but apparently he had contingency plans, which I must now uncover," Sherlock responded with a twist to his lips.

"Well I must say, I have every faith in you, and I'm very glad things turned out this way. I was not looking forward to rattling around this place by myself for the next six months," remarked the elderly landlady, with a pat on his arm.

_More like forever,_ thought Sherlock, but merely said aloud, "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." He offered her a winning smile, then added, "I suppose I should get my flat key back from you now, so I can go inside."

"Oh of course." Mrs. Hudson disappeared into her own flat and returned a minute later with Sherlock's key. "Here you go."

Sherlock took the key, marveling once again at the events that had transpired which had led to him being able to resume his life here. Of course, Mycroft was definitely going to have to do something about the Magnussen incident, a pardon or some such thing, he supposed, but for now, he was home.

Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat, and Sherlock unbuttoned his coat to place it on the coat rack beside the front door. It was only as he did so, that he remembered the envelope which was still inside an inner pocket. He retrieved it, picked up his small suitcase and bounded up the stairs.

As soon as he entered the flat, he put his suitcase down and walked over to his chair with a sigh of relief. He was still holding the envelope, and he looked at it carefully. It was addressed to Molly Hooper, her name written in untidy, almost illegible scrawl. The envelope was also sealed, and he had no idea what the letter within contained. He only remembered that he had come back to Baker Street in order to pack some things, during which time he had sneaked downstairs to 221C, retrieved his stash of drugs and injected himself, with the intention of trying to escape his own memories of shooting Magnussen.

At that point, he had suddenly realised he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to Molly. The last time they had spoken had been on the day before Christmas, when he had said he was heading down to Sussex to see his parents. He had decided to write her a letter, planning to hand it to Mycroft before the plane lifted off. After writing the letter, he had sealed it and slipped it into his coat pocket just before leaving Baker Street, then had promptly forgotten about it.

He looked at it now and frowned. Even though he had no memory of what he had written to Molly, he supposed he should give it to her anyway, so that she would know he had not planned on leaving her without saying goodbye. He had already done that to her once before, after his "funeral," and he knew it had hurt her. He automatically reached into his trouser pocket for his phone to text her and ask for her to come and see him, then suddenly realised he didn't have his phone. It had been confiscated on the day he had been arrested and put into solitary confinement. His laptop had also been confiscated.

Sherlock pursed his lips. He supposed he would have to ask to borrow Mrs. Hudson's phone so he could call Mycroft and ask for his phone and laptop back. Even as he was contemplating this, he heard the doorbell ring downstairs, and a minute later, the unmistakable tread of his brother's footsteps ascending the stairs.

Sherlock set the envelope onto his coffee table and opened the door. He was not surprised to see Mycroft standing there with his laptop and phone in his hands. "I thought you might be needing these," remarked his brother.

Sherlock took the laptop and phone, saying, "Thank you. Obviously I can't do any work without these." He pressed the button to power on his phone, and let out a huff of annoyance when it did not respond.

Mycroft raised a sardonic brow. "What did you expect, Sherlock? The phone hasn't been used in more than a week. You'll have to charge it."

Sherlock sighed. "Of course. Did you want a cup of tea, now that you're here?" he asked, thinking he should at least show some gratitude to his brother.

"No thank you," responded Mycroft. "The limo is waiting for me downstairs. I just wanted to bring this up to you. I'll be in touch once we have decided how to address the Magnussen incident now that shipping you out of the country is no longer an option." There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips as he spoke, and Sherlock had the feeling that his brother was almost as relieved about the reprieve as he was himself. Whatever Mycroft had to do in order to make things right, he knew it would be done.

As soon as the brothers had exchanged farewells, Sherlock put his laptop on to charge, then went to his bedroom and plugged his phone into the charging cord that still lay on his bedside table. After that was done, he set to work unpacking his suitcase. There really wasn't a great deal in it, toiletries, shaving supplies, a couple changes of clothes.

He went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was completely bare, and he realised that Mrs. Hudson must have already cleaned it out, with her expectations that he would not be back for six months. He was rather surprised she hadn't expressed horror at the partially dissected kidney that had been within, but supposed that was because she had been too pleased to see him to make mention of his continued use of the fridge for body parts, despite her constant irritation over it.

Upon retrieving his credit card from his bedside drawer where he had stashed it, never expecting to use it again, he walked to his favourite fish shop and purchased his usual portion of chips. Joe, the proprietor, gave him his usual extra portion and wished him a happy new year. Sherlock couldn't help thinking that this might not, after all, be the year of his death.

By the time he had arrived home, the brisk walk to and from the fish shop had removed the last traces of the high he had been experiencing, and he felt in complete control of himself once again. By the time Sherlock had finished his chips, his phone was charged enough for him to take a look at his messages. There were only messages from two people, Lestrade - _Graham?_ and Molly Hooper.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade's text first, which had come in an hour earlier.

_John told me what happened, and that you ended up coming back, now that you have an important case to work on here, rather then abroad. Glad to know you won't be out of the country for six months, after all. Not sure how the Yard would cope without you for so long._

Sherlock had to smile at that. He knew very well how much Lestrade - _Geoff?_ counted on his assistance. He really needed to get the man's first name and put it in his phone so he wouldn't forget. Maybe his name was Gavin?

With a dismissive shrug to himself, Sherlock looked at the messages that had come in from Molly. There were several. The first one was dated December 25, and wished him a Merry Christmas. The second was the following day with a query on how his Christmas had been with his family. The third had been three days later, and it contained a gentle censure for not responding to her. The fourth and final message had been a rather anxious one, inquiring as to whether he was okay.

Sherlock was just about to respond, when another text came in.

_Now I know why you have not been in contact with me. John just called and told me that you got into some trouble and that you were leaving the country for a six month mission abroad as some kind of punishment for what happened. I have to admit that I am very hurt you did not even think to say goodbye though before you had to leave. You know how I felt last time when you just left. I thought we were friends._

She followed this with an emoji of a face with a tear beneath one eye and Sherlock pressed his lips together.

He was just formulating a response for her, when another text came in.

_By the way, I'm glad you are staying after all. What the hell was that image of Moriarty doing on every television screen? Does Moriarty have a twin or something? You and I both know that he is dead. He blew his brains out, and nobody survives that…_

Sherlock couldn't help the amused smile that crossed his lips at Molly's last words. They were exactly the same ones he had said to John and Mary before leaving the airfield to return home. He glanced over at the envelope on the coffee table. There was the proof that he had not intended to just leave again without a goodbye. He had to admit, he was rather curious too, to see what the envelope contained.

As his fingers hovered over the keyboard of his phone, his fingers trembled slightly and he remembered he was still coming off a drug-induced high. He'd need a day or so to fully be himself again.

Making his decision, he texted Molly back.

_Molly, it was not my intention to leave without saying goodbye again. I have only just received my phone back after it was confiscated on Christmas Day due to my actions. I do indeed remember the conversation we had when I returned last time after my two year absence. I have the proof here to show that I did intend to say goodbye. I will be available tomorrow evening if you would like to come to Baker Street and see it for yourself._

Five minutes later her response came in.

_All right. I'll be done at four. Do you want me to come by straight after work?_

Sherlock thought for a moment, then responded with, _That would be acceptable. I'll see you then._

He returned his phone to the charger and headed back into the sitting room, where he booted up his now almost fully charged laptop. He had work to do.

Over the next day, Sherlock spent hours on his laptop, scanning various websites in an attempt to find out whether he could detect any suspicious activity that might indicate what Moriarty's posthumous game was. Unfortunately, he was unable to gather any information to help, and knew he would be playing a waiting game. In the meantime, he decided it was time to get back to work in doing regular casework, to keep himself distracted.

From time to time, he would eye the unopened letter that still lay on the coffee table. He was tempted to steam it open and read the contents for himself, but restrained himself. The letter was intended for Molly, after all, and she deserved the opportunity to read it first.

Finally the time arrived when Sherlock knew she would be on her way to Baker Street, and he waited with nervous anticipation. For some reason he found his heart beating rather fast as well, and he wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was because he had never expected to see her again. Even as he had endured his week of solitary confinement, thoughts had turned to her quite often. Of everyone he knew, he felt she would be the most disappointed by his behaviour. There was something about Molly that always made him want to be a better man, to try to live up to her standards, and he had failed her yet again.

When the doorbell rang, he took several deep breaths, knowing that Mrs. Hudson would open the outer door for Molly. Then he heard her light footsteps ascending the stairs, sounding very different from those of his brother.

He was already waiting at the door and opened it before Molly could knock. He smiled at her and stood aside to let her in.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, well, well, what do you think is in the letter that Sherlock wrote?, Oh, never mind, the title of the story kind of spoils it. Alright, so how do you think things are going to go when Molly reads the letter for herself? Will Sherlock acknowledge his feelings to himself or will he try to explain it away as not being true because he was high?

Have you ever wondered about how Sherlock left things with Molly when he had to leave? Do you think he would have contacted her or left her in the dark? There are so many ways the situation could be addressed because the show doesn't do it. I like the thought of him writing her a letter and in fact, that is part of my initial story, so part of my one-universe post TFP canon for them. Therefore, in essence, Sherlock is dreaming about a letter he really did write to Molly. For more context, check out _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage _and _A Journey through Molly's Diary_.

Reviews appreciated.


	2. Going into Denial

"You wanted to see me?" asked Molly with a quirk to her lips, even a Sherlock closed the door behind her. His own lips twitched, remembering her use of the same words when he had summoned her soon after his return to London following his two years away from it.

"Yes. Thank you for coming, Molly," said Sherlock, as he helped her off with her jacket and laid it over the arm of the sofa. "As I said yesterday, I can prove that I was not planning to leave without saying goodbye." He motioned for her to sit on the sofa, and she did so.

Molly looked up at him curiously. "So, what's this proof then?"

Sherlock picked up the envelope addressed to her, which was still laying on the coffee table. "I wrote this for you yesterday morning, as I was preparing to leave."

Her eyes widened slightly as she took the envelope from him and looked at it. "Oh, it's a letter." She sounded surprised.

Sherlock walked over to his chair and sat in it, then crossed his legs. He looked over at Molly. "You might as will read it now seeing as I did not have the opportunity to give it to you before." He was very careful to not mention that he did not even remember what he had written. If she knew he had been high at the time of writing it, she would be even more disappointed with him. He'd been the recipient of several stinging slaps on the last occasion he had used drugs to arouse Magnussen's interest in him. He suspected that letter would explain what he had done, which was already going to be difficult. He only hoped he would be able to explain afterwards that he had felt he had no other choice, once he discovered that all of Magnussen's blackmail files had been stored in his own head.

Sherlock watched as Molly struggled a little with the seal on the envelope. He was about to get up and fetch a letter opener from the drawer in the kitchen, when she finally managed to open the envelope and slide out the single sheet of paper, then unfold it. He couldn't help biting the inside of his cheek slightly as he watched her unfold the letter and begin to read.

A slight smile appeared immediately on her lips, which disappeared within a few seconds. Approximately thirty seconds later she had lowered the letter and looked over at him. She couldn't possibly be finished with the whole thing already, could she?

"You…you killed a man?" Her lips pressed together, as if she were trying to stop them from trembling, and he winced slightly. So, he had told her the truth.

"I'm afraid so." He rushed to justify his actions. He didn't want Molly to think less of him when he had tried so hard to restore their friendship after she had broken off her engagement to that pale imitation of himself. "You have to understand, Molly, Magnussen was an evil man. He ruined countless lives by finding people's pressure points and blackmailing them with it. He had to be stopped."

Her eyes were wide with horror. "But did you have to _kill_ him?"

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "I made a miscalculation, Molly. I thought he had vaults in which he stored all his files of the people he was blackmailing." His lips twisted. "Then I discovered his information was all stored in his own version of a mind palace, so inaccessible. I was trying to trap him, bring him to justice. There's more to it, but please believe me when I say it wasn't premeditated, but at the time I felt it was my only option."

Molly nodded her head. "I hope you will tell me the whole story sometime." Then she bit her lip. "But you also wrote that you were being sent on a one-way mission by your brother, that you would be dead in six months." A fat tear suddenly ran down her cheek. "If not for that Moriarty image I would never have seen you again."

Sherlock uncrossed his legs, stood and walked to sit beside her. "I concede that the timing of that image was rather fortuitous."

She gazed at him for another moment, then returned her focus to the letter. "I guess I'll finish reading this now."

He glanced over at it as she lifted the letter once more. He caught the first words and frowned a little. His scrawl was almost illegible from where he was sitting, but it looked like he had started it with "_Dearest Molly"_. Apparently his high self had been feeling sentimental.

Instead of trying to make sense of the letter from his awkward angle, and not wanting to make it known he had no clue of its contents, because that would require a confession that he had been high at the time, Sherlock decided to keep his focus on Molly's face.

He watched carefully as she squinted at first, as if to try and decipher his writing, then saw her expression change as she continued to read from where she had left off. Her lips pursed and then the tears began to fall freely, even as she lowered the letter once again, having apparently finished it.

She turned her head towards him. "You were high when you wrote this." It was a statement, not a question, so Sherlock realised he must have divulged that information in the letter.

He dropped his gaze and looked down at his lap. "Yes. I needed a distraction from my own thoughts."

She shifted slightly, angling her body towards him, and his gaze drifted back upwards to meet her serious gaze. There was something in her tear-filled expression he didn't quite understand, even as she allowed the letter to fall into her lap. "What you said - it's all true then?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow briefly. He had no idea what she meant, but he still didn't want Molly to know that the drugs had caused memory loss. Undoubtedly she was talking about the details he had explained of the Magnussen case. "Yes, it's true."

To his surprise, Molly smiled through her tears and said, "I feel the same way."

He was even more surprised when her hand came up to touch his face and she bent forward. And then the most unexpected thing happened; Molly Hooper pressed her lips against his. His first thought was that a kiss from Molly was very different than those kisses from Janine. Janine's lips had never caused his to tingle, nor had they caused a warmth to spread through him. This was something he had definitely never experienced before. For a few seconds he just enjoyed this unique experience, until his brain reasserted control and told him, _What the hell are you doing?_ Then he thought, _What the hell is Molly doing?_

He didn't understand it. They were friends and here she was, kissing him as if they were _more_ than friends. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. His words, when they came out, were a little sharper than he had intended them to be, due to his embarrassment. "Why did you kiss me like that?"

Colour rose in Molly's cheeks and she looked flustered as she stammered, "I…I thought…you said it was true."

He gave her an uncomprehending look. What did telling the truth about what had happened have to do with her kissing him?

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he said, wondering if he had somehow stepped into an episode of that old American show, _The Twilight Zone_.

Now it was Molly's turn to look confused, then suspicion entered her eyes. "Well, you _did_ say you were high while you were writing the letter." She narrowed her gaze at him. "Do you even remember what you wrote? Because your actions say otherwise." She folded her arms and moved to put some distance between them.

Sherlock flushed. "I'm sorry Molly. I - well I didn't want you to think less of me, to admit I didn't remember what I wrote."

Molly stood. "Well, perhaps you had better read it for yourself then." She picked up the letter and thrust it at him as her lips compressed into a thin line. Then her words came out, hard and angry. "You just made a fool of me because I believed the damned letter. Apparently your high self is more in touch with his emotional side than you are." He winced at what came next. "You just blew it, Sherlock, big time. I'm done waiting for you to be honest with yourself, and you're right, I deserve better than that."

She lifted her chin proudly, disdainfully. "Goodbye, Sherlock." Her expression was cold, distant, and suddenly, Sherlock felt bereft.

He watched silently as the woman who counted grabbed her jacket, stalked to the door, yanked it open and slammed it behind her as she left.

It was only then that Sherlock realised he still held the letter in his hands, and finally, he decided to read it for himself. It was a little difficult, because he could feel the burn of tears threatening to overwhelm him. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt Molly, but it seemed as if that was exactly what he had accomplished this evening, and he cursed himself for it.

It was strange - he noticed smudges on the letter that were consistent with teardrops being left on the page, and some of his writing was even less legible as a result. The letter itself was dry, so it had definitely not been Molly's tears that had made the smudges which caused the ink to run. He had been obviously been felling emotional at the time. Squinting at the page, he finally deciphered the words, and that was when he understood exactly what had upset Molly, and how much he had hurt her.

_Dearest Molly,_

_I wanted to send you this, rather than a text because you are my dearest friend, and you are the one who matters most to me._

_I killed a man in cold blood on Christmas Day. He deserved it, he was a monster who posed a threat to many people, including some friends. The fact that he died at my hands though has placed an enormous burden of guilt on me._

_In order to avoid imprisonment, Mycroft is sending me on a one-way mission that should ensure my death in less than six months. I know I deserve this, it is my just punishment for taking another man's life._

_There's just one thing I need to tell you._

_Molly, when I told you that you were the person who mattered the most, it was the truth. I realise now that those words meant more to me than I knew myself at the time. I know it's far too late to say this, and it really can make no difference now, but you have to know._

_I love you. Maybe it's only because I am high that I can admit it to myself, but it's the truth. I love you, and have done so for a long time. I wish things could have been different for us, that I'd been a better man, one deserving of you, but I guess that is the way life goes. What goes around comes around, as they say. I am getting what I deserve, and that is not you, because you deserve so much better._

_Be happy Molly, because you deserve it, not a sometime junkie who is too emotionally unstable to recognise what is in front of him. Goodbye, Molly Hooper. I love you, I love you._

_Love, Sherlock XXX_

Sherlock dropped the letter back onto the coffee table, returned to sit in his chair, closed his eyes, and buried his face in his hands. _What have I done? _he thought angrily to himself. He should have read the letter. He would never have given it to her and offered her false hope if he had known what it contained. Now he had lost her friendship, something he valued greatly.

Sherlock attempted to go into his mind palace, to puzzle out why his high self had written such things. He couldn't get past the thought that he had hurt Molly terribly. She hadn't even censured him for his admission of killing Magnussen, as she so easily could have done. She had not reprimanded him for being high either. Her focus had been on the one thing that had been important to her, his admission of love.

He remembered her words, after his response to her question as to whether what he had written was the truth. _"I feel the same way."_ No wonder she was embarrassed. She had kissed him, believing he loved her as she loved him. _God, I'm the worst sort of man._

He had suspected Molly's feelings might run deeper for him than his for her, especially in light of the fact that she had called off her engagement, but as long as she had not admitted anything, he knew they could maintain the status quo of their friendship with no need to address the topic of sentiment. He cared for Molly a great deal and now things would be awkward because he knew the truth, rather than just suspected it. The really odd part of it all was that he had actually enjoyed the kiss. Her lips were very soft, very sweet, just like she herself was. But the finality in her voice as she had said goodbye to him left him in no doubt that, even if he _had_ wished to pursue a romantic relationship with her, he had blown it, she had said it herself.

His forehead creased further in concentration. _But if I don't have any romantic feelings for Molly, why on earth did I write such a thing to her? Why was her kiss so different from the ones I shared with Janine?_ He groaned in frustration. He felt as if his mind palace was short-circuiting. The more he tried to process things, the less he was able to understand them.

He tired desperately but found himself unable to come to any sort of conclusion. He simply did not know anymore how he felt about Molly Hooper. If she had not kissed him, things would have been simple. But that kiss had muddied the waters, and it would always lay between them now. How did one restore a friendship after participating in something that was decidedly not a _just friends_ activity?

By the time Sherlock went to bed that night, he had still been unable to come to any concrete conclusion about Molly and himself, so he decided to do nothing. Undoubtedly they would cross paths soon enough when he had to investigate the body of a murder victim for which she had done the post-mortem. For now, he needed to concentrate on working and waiting for Moriarty's endgame to be revealed, and he suspected Molly needed time to cool off as well.

_Yes,_ he finally decided, _When we see each other next, I'll act as if nothing has happened, and perhaps Molly will do the same._

Feeling somewhat better that he had at least come to some kind of logical decision, Sherlock finally allowed himself to sleep.

* * *

**Author's note: **Well, Sherlock certainly knows how to make a mess of things, doesn't he?

The words from his letter are a direct copy and paste from the letter my "real" Sherlock gave Molly in my _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage _story. As this is, in fact, a dream my "real" version of Sherlock has, the letter remains the same, and it is an interpretation of what might have happened if he had given it to her immediately after his reprieve from exile, rather than after they were already engaged and in love. I feel that pre-Sherrinford Sherlock would definitely find it a struggle to face what his high self already knew.

I invite you, the reader, to ponder the idea of a love letter and leave a review with your own thoughts on how you think Sherlock might have reacted about it. Do you think he would have accepted it as fact immediately, dismissed it immediately, or been conflicted?


	3. Distractions and Enlightenment

Over the next week, Sherlock surrounded himself with work, seeking distraction from the events of that night with Molly. He pushed away those conflicting emotions into a small, locked room of his mind palace.

_Caring is not an advantage,_ rang through his mind whenever he was tempted to dwell on things. It was like a warning etched on the door of that room that contained his perceptions of Molly. He understood that even more now than he had before. He had hurt Molly, because she cared too much. Caring too much meant exposing your innermost being to someone, opening yourself up to the possibility of hurt. It was another reason he had never been interested in a sexual relationship with anyone. That act - it had to mean you were exposing that most intimate part of yourself, sharing yourself with another human being. How people could throw themselves into those types of intimate relationships so quickly was definitely beyond his purview.

During this time, Sherlock was called in to see what had been decided about Magnussen. He had to admit, it was a relief to have a brother with such important connections that led to there being doctored footage of the incident that pointed to Sherlock's innocence rather than guilt. He was off the hook, and Sherlock determined to make amends by continuing his work at a frenetic pace that would have intimidated anyone else. It was his way of trying to absolve himself for his own actions in killing the blackmailer, by making sure he made himself useful in solving other crimes.

After that week had passed, Sherlock found himself investigating the case of the strangulation death of a man named Joel Fentiman. Although the man had health issues and was cared for by his brother, there did not appear to be any forced entry into the bedsit the brothers shared, so Sherlock decided he should probably take a look at the man's body and see if there might be any additional clues as to what had happened.

The body had been removed to St. Bart's, and Sherlock had a feeling it would be Molly who had done the post-mortem. He was correct.

Upon speaking to Mike Stamford, Sherlock was told Molly would have the body ready for him in the morgue, and the detective made his way to the hospital, a little apprehensive about his first meeting with Molly since that night, but determined to follow through with his plan to pretend that their last conversation had not happened.

Sherlock swept into the morgue in his usual manner, adopting a professional tone with Molly, inviting her opinion on what had happened. He always respected Molly's thoughts on things and they almost always coincided with his own. "Hello, Molly. Did you find anything unusual in your examination? Other evidence of foul play, or just strangulation?"

Molly kept her tone neutral as she observed him from a few feet away, even as Sherlock took out his magnifying glass to peer more closely at the marks on the man's neck. "Toxicology report came back negative. Simple strangulation from the front. The victim was in bed at the time."

Sherlock snapped his magnifier shut. "It's odd," he murmured, almost to himself. "No signs of forced entry, no enemies that I can ascertain."

He looked up as Molly spoke coolly from her position off to the side. "Well, he lived with his brother didn't he? You always maintain that whenever you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Obviously it was the brother, and you just need to find out why he did it."

Sherlock's brows rose in surprise, then he smiled. She was right, of course she was. He just needed to find out more about the brother.

He strode over to Molly and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're brilliant, Molly," he proclaimed.

She gave him a shy, tentative smile, the first since she had left him a few days earlier. It was a smile eerily reminiscent of that one from years ago when he had complimented her on her hair in order to coax her into allowing him to see those bodies. It was funny how clearly he remembered every smile Molly gave him.

It was that smile which led to him bending his head to touch her lips with his own. He felt his heartbeat accelerate as he experienced the softness of her lips, but he hardly had the chance to really comprehend what was happening before she pushed her hands against his chest and twisted her face away from his.

Then, to his utter shock, she slapped him. Sherlock put a hand to his stinging cheek even as Molly said in a low, intense voice, "How _dare _you toy with my emotions that way, Sherlock!"

Shame filled Sherlock as he responded, "God, I'm so sorry, Molly."

He could see the glitter of tears in her eyes as she pointed towards the door. "You got what you came for, now get out of my morgue!"

Sherlock immediately complied, turning away from her and striding towards the door, feeling acute embarrassment spread through him. He pulled it open and walked to the window ahead of him, staring out of it with unseeing eyes. He remembered Mycroft's words from years earlier coming back to haunt him. "All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

Sherlock recalled the muffled sound of crying as a family was informed of the loss of a loved one, which was what had prompted Mycroft to say those words to him. It was strange, he could almost hear that sound of crying, even now. Then, Sherlock realised he was not recalling something from his past. It was faint, but he could hear crying coming from the morgue, and his heart ached because he had hurt Molly once again.

Why did he keep doing this to her, to himself?

He wondered fleetingly if he should return to the morgue, to apologise again, but decided it would be a mistake. Sighing heavily, Sherlock left the morgue and the hospital behind. Then he successfully solved the case, by discovering that Joel Fentiman's heart medication caused bouts of amnesia, which had let to him strangling his brother without knowing he had done so.

Mere days later, Sherlock had the privilege, dubious though it was, of being present at the birth of John and Mary's baby daughter, in a car, no less. Sherlock felt the experience was as traumatic for himself as for Mary, although he dared not express his thoughts aloud.

As soon as Mary was released from the hospital, Sherlock made the requisite visit to the Watson home. Mrs. Hudson had gone on ahead, too excited to wait for Sherlock to take a shower first.

When Sherlock entered the flat upon John's invitation, he was a little unnerved to discover that Molly was also there. His mouth felt dry when he saw how attractive she looked with her hair pulled to one side. She glanced briefly at him, then away again, but he knew she was still angry with him over his behaviour the previous week. He could hardly blame her.

So while Molly and Mrs. Hudson fussed with taking photographs of the new parents with their baby, Sherlock busied himself with his latest investigations, trying to distract himself from thoughts of Molly.

_Caring is not an advantage,_ he told himself as Molly exclaimed happily over being asked to be godmother along with Mrs. Hudson. He wasn't really sure what being a godmother entailed, but if anyone was fit to be a mother, it was Molly. Really, it was a damned shame she had never married and had children of her own. Of course, she had had a chance with that ex-fiancé of hers. Sherlock had to admit to himself, he thought Molly would be a great mother, but he didn't like the thought of her having that Tim fellow's kids. She had been way too smart for the guy anyway. Moly needed a man who could match her superior intelligence, someone more like him, though not Sherlock himself, of course. All he seemed to do was hurt her.

His reverie was interrupted by John asking if he would be godfather. It was ridiculous really. He didn't even believe in God. The promise of cake though, well, he could leave the God stuff to Molly. She probably knew more about that kind of thing. He didn't know why, but he had the distinct feeling that Molly had a very different view on God than he did.

That night, and the nights that followed, Sherlock began to dream about Molly. He could never clearly remember them, except that she was there and it made him happy that she invaded his dreams when she was absent from his real life.

He re-read the letter he had written to Molly and wondered weather he should have considered it more seriously. But Mycroft was always in the back of his thoughts telling him over and over that caring was not an advantage. Wasn't his brother older and wiser? He always said he was the smart one, after all.

The baptism was arranged for less than three weeks after John asked him to be godfather, which Sherlock thought was a rather unholy rush, but he supposed it didn't really matter as it was none of his business. All he had to do, after all, was show up and then eat cake at the little party afterwards. On the plus side, he would also get to see Molly again.

When Sherlock entered the stately Anglican church, he was almost late, because he was in the middle of getting details on his latest case. He couldn't help noticing though that Molly looked even more lovely than when he had seen her at the Watsons. They had not spoken nor even texted since then, and he realised he missed their conversations. He missed discussing cases with her as well.

Dammit all, he missed _her._ Their estrangement was something he was not used to. It had been different when he had been avoiding Molly during her engagement, because it had been his choice. This time, however, she was avoiding _him_. It was not a good feeling. Molly had always been there for him over the years, but now she was acting as if they were strangers. At least she spoke to him during the baptism, even if it was to scold him for using his phone and to make a snarky comment. That was actually better than her not talking to him at all, he reflected.

After the service, the group headed to John and Mary's for the promised cake. When they were hailing taxis, Molly went out of her way to make sure she would not be with Sherlock.

Mycroft's usual refrain of "Caring is not an advantage" ran through Sherlock's mind again, but he was finding it difficult to agree with the premise. John and Mary cared deeply about one another, loved each other even, and they had had a lot of baggage between them that could have torn them apart, which they had worked through.

After putting up with the incessant, happy chatter of Mrs. Hudson on the taxi ride, about how lovely the service was, how simply adorable little Rosamund was, it was a relief to arrive at John and Mary's flat.

A short time later, while Mary was cutting the promised cake, Sherlock decided to walk over to Molly who had just finished speaking with Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello, Molly," he ventured, attempting a friendly smile to which she did not respond as he had hoped.

Instead, she raised a haughty eyebrow. "What do you want, Sherlock?" There was no sign of warmth in her coffee coloured eyes, and Sherlock almost shivered. He had never felt a chill like that before from her.

"I–" he started, and swallowed nervously, before continuing. "I just wanted to say that I thought you look very attractive today."

"You can't manipulate me anymore with empty compliments, Sherlock," she responded in a voice that dripped scorn like melting ice from a glacier, then turned away from him and walked towards John, who was holding the baby.

Sherlock felt an emptiness inside himself. He really had lost her. There was no hint of affection in her eyes, not even a glimmer of the friendship they had once shared. And at that moment, when he realised it was too late, he knew.

Oh God, he _did_ love her. He loved her desperately, overwhelmingly, and he had completely botched everything. Mycroft was right after all, caring was _not _an advantage because it hurt too much when the person you cared about did not return your feelings. For the first time, Sherlock saw clearly how cruel he had been to Molly in the past, how carelessly he had played with her emotions. Raw pain sliced through Sherlock's heart as he watched Molly take the infant from John and smile at the baby in a way she would never smile at him again.

He couldn't stay a moment longer. To hell with the bloody cake. Without a word, he walked to the front door and yanked it open, ignoring John's calls of, "Where are you going, Sherlock? We haven't even had the cake yet."

Sherlock didn't respond, merely exited the flat and raised his hand for a passing taxi. He balled his hands into fists as soon as he entered the cab and felt the excruciating pain of loss that he had never experienced before.

He didn't even remember paying the taxi driver and going upstairs to his flat. The next thing he was aware of in the real world was the knocking on his front door.

Sherlock knew he had been in his mind palace, reliving every moment he had spent with Molly over the years, drowning in his sorrow, but he was surprised to see that the room was dark about him. Hours had obviously passed.

Wearily he rose from his chair and walked to the door, unlocking it. John and Mary were standing there with a sleeping Rosamund. _Means rose of the world, Rosie for short, _he recalled Molly saying earlier that day, the last time she had acted remotely cordial with him.

John gave him a concerned look. "What the hell has got into you, Sherlock? You left the flat without a word, and you haven't been answering my texts."

Sherlock looked at John with dull, lifeless eyes. He turned on the light, walked slowly over to his chair and sat in it once again, crossing his legs, leaving John and Mary to sit on the sofa with their daughter.

Idly, Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw that he had several notifications from John that he had obviously not heard while he had been lost in his mind palace memories of Molly. "Sorry," he told John, looking over at his friends. "I've been in my mind palace since I got home."

John folded his arms and pursed his lips. "Does this have something to do with Molly? The tension between you today was so thick you could cut it with a knife."

Sherlock expelled a deep breath, and closed his eyes briefly, before returning his gaze to John. "It has everything to do with her. I've been a bloody fool and ruined everything."

MarY nodded sagely as she gently rocked her sleeping infant. "I knew it," she exclaimed softly. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

John gave his wife a sceptical look and snorted. "Of course he's not. Sherlock is not interested in romance, never has been. He obviously offended her in some way and now she won't give him any body parts to experiment on."

Mary looked at her husband and said crossly, "People change, John. I was an assassin, now I'm a wife and mother. Haven't you seen the way they look at one another? I knew Molly was in love with Sherlock as soon as we met that ex-fiancé of hers, and I saw the way she looked at Sherlock during our wedding. She broke up with Tom immediately after our wedding too, if you recall."

John frowned. "You're daft if you think Molly being in love with Sherlock would suddenly lead to him developing romantic feelings towards her," he insisted. "I'm telling you, I know Sherlock better than you do. He just isn't that kind of man. He's married to his work."

Mary glowered, even as she stroked her daughter's hair gently. "So you would have me believe that Sherlock is incapable of strong emotions?"

John folded his arms and leaned back on the sofa, regarding Mary thoughtfully.

"Didn't you hear what Molly told Sherlock today at the christening in that sarcastic tone? 'No idea why people think you're incapable of human emotion,' so she obviously agrees with me even if you don't," John countered, a little louder than necessary, and the baby began to whimper.

Sherlock was looking at both of them in a bemused fashion. He couldn't believe they were having a row and talking about him as if he wasn't even in the room.

As if to highlight this, Mary calmly lifted her blouse and unhooked her bra to begin breast-feeding the now grizzling Rosie, and Sherlock averted his eyes, even as he thought again what a wonderful mother Molly would be. He suddenly had an image of a baby girl with brown hair like Molly's and eyes like his, and pain shot through him once again at the thought of what might have been.

The other couple continued to bicker back and forth about Sherlock and his emotions or lack thereof until he had had enough. "Shut up both of you!" he told them in exasperation. John and Mary had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

Then he directed his attention to John. "Anyway, Mary is right, you're wrong. But it makes no difference anyhow. I blew it with Molly, and she hates me now."

He continued to avoid looking at Mary, even as she responded, rather than John. Her voice, when she spoke, was very kind. "Sherlock, what happened between the two of you? If you truly love her, I know you can fix things. She still loves you, I'm sure of it."

Sherlock buried his face in his hands briefly, then looked back up, staring straight ahead and saying sorrowfully, "No, she doesn't."

_They say confession is good for the soul_, he thought. It was time for him to explain to them what had happened, how he had killed any love Molly might have had for him by his own idiocy and blindness to the truth of his feelings.

* * *

**Author's note: **Hope you are not disappointed I didn't drag out Sherlock's denial of his feelings in this story. I never have a clear plan on how long he will be oblivious to them. This one he caught on a bit sooner than in my last story!

I hope you enjoyed the back-and-forth between John and Mary. Honestly, I can totally see them bickering like parents do in front of children, not even realizing they are being heard. I do enjoy also writing a smart Mary and oblivious John!

So, is it too late for Sherlock to make amends?

Remember the three F's - follows/favourites/feedback. Thank you for those of you who spare a few moments from your busy day to brighten my own day a little with a comment of any length.


	4. Baring His Soul

Sherlock tried to put his thoughts in order. Finally he let out a deep sigh and began, still not looking over at the couple seated on the sofa. He could hear the intermittent sounds of the infant suckling and didn't want to be distracted further by thoughts of Molly with her own baby, their baby.

"This whole thing began when I showed Molly a letter I had written to her when I was about to be sent away. I-" here he paused for a moment, embarrassed at what he would be saying next, "I was high at the time and I didn't remember what I wrote."

"You wrote her a letter?" asked John, in disbelieving tones. "I've never even seen you pick up a pen. You use your laptop or your phone for everything."

Sherlock darted an annoyed glance at his friend, before looking away again. "A text would not have been sufficient to say farewell to Molly. She deserved more than that. We've been friends for a long time."

When he stopped speaking for a few seconds, thinking once again of the friendship he had ruined, Mary said gently, "Please continue, Sherlock. I assume you showed her the letter?"

Sherlock swallowed. "I did, and my mistake was in not reading it first for myself."

Here, John ventured his own deduction. "I'm guessing you wrote about what happened with Magnussen, and Molly was upset about it."

Sherlock frowned and looked over at his friend. "I did write about that, and she stopped reading to ask me about it, but she didn't judge me for it, just said I'd have to tell her the whole story later. It was what came afterwards that was the problem."

John's eyes were round with curiosity. "What on earth could be more damning than you confessing that you killed a man?"

Sherlock shifted his gaze from John to Mary, whose face also expressed interest, then back to John. "First, you need to understand something - I didn't tell Molly I was not aware of what I'd written in the letter, because I was too ashamed to have her know I'd been high. I'm sure you recall her reaction after I failed that drug test a few months ago."

John nodded. "God, yes. I remember those slaps she gave you very well. She really let you have it and then she told you off. I was quite impressed."

Sherlock offered a wry smile at that and continued. "Anyway, Molly finished reading the letter and she asked about me being high, so I knew I had revealed that. Then she asked if what I had said was true. I, of course, assumed I had gone on to explain more of the details of what I had done and the consequences, so I said that yes, it was true."

He stopped again, recalling what had happened next, the way Molly had leaned in towards him, the way her lips had felt against his, the warmth he didn't understand that had spread through him.

"Well, spit it out, man," said John impatiently, and Sherlock saw Mary give John a sharp nudge with her elbow, no small feat while holding a baby.

"Let him talk at his own pace, John. Can't you see how difficult this is for him?" she told her husband sternly.

Sherlock gave her a grateful smile, then turned his head away to look straight ahead as he uttered the next words. "There were tears in her eyes and she said she felt the same way. Then...she kissed me."

He heard the gasp of astonishment from Mary, even as John said, "Oh, my God, she _kissed_ you? Why the hell did she do that?"

"Apparently in the letter I told her I loved her," Sherlock admitted. Then he looked over at the couple once again. "That's when I made the biggest mistake. Instead of thinking about how good that kiss felt, and believe me, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced, I pushed Molly away and asked her what was going on, why she had kissed me. That's when she asked if I knew what I'd written in the letter and I had to admit to her that I didn't." He bowed his head and continued, feeling the burn of tears at the back of his throat. "She was angry, and hurt, and she told me I should read the letter and that I'd blown it with her. Then she left." He raised his head again. "Do you want to see what I wrote?" It didn't matter anymore if everyone knew what an idiot he was anyway, he reflected.

"You don't need to do that, Sherlock," Mary said, as she raised the baby, who had apparently finished feeding, to her shoulder and patted her back gently.

John, of course, said "God, yes," at the same time.

Sherlock stood and went to retrieve the letter which was next to his laptop. He thrust it at John and then flopped back into his chair, waiting.

"You read it, love, while I change Rosie," instructed Mary, and Sherlock watched dully as Mary deftly changed the baby's nappy. He wrinkled his nose at the noxious smell as she popped the dirty nappy into a plastic bag and deposited it into the kitchen rubbish bin, even as the infant gave a contented gurgle. He couldn't help wondering if dirty nappies and happily gurgling babies would be in his future at some point if he could fix things with Molly. The nappies he could definitely do without, but happy offspring held a certain appeal. His stomach lurched unexpectedly at the thought and he was not sure if it was a lurch of fear or anticipation at the idea of fatherhood and domesticity. Probably both. But of course that was an unlikely scenario anyway. Molly had made things abundantly clear to him with her last words to him. Sometimes wounds were too deep to be healed and he knew he had deeply wounded Molly emotionally.

John raised his eyes from the letter. "My God, you wrote that you loved her, and then you refused to acknowledge it after she read it? You, my friend, are an utter cock."

Instead of being annoyed by John's words, Sherlock nodded his head. "I know I am, but that isn't even all of it."

Mary picked up Rosie and handed her to John to take his turn holding her while she skimmed over the letter, before saying shrewdly, "Obviously something else happened after that."

"I made things even worse. I think, maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't given Molly mixed signals later. I was in the morgue with her a few days later, and she said something that made me realise what I had been missing in a case. I was so happy that I walked up to her and, uh," he flushed a little, "I told her she was brilliant and then I kissed her."

"Dear God, this just keeps getting worse," expostulated John, rolling his eyes.

"You don't know the half of it," responded Sherlock with a sigh. "She slapped me and told me off for toying with her emotions."

"Good for her," approved his friend, narrowing his gaze at Sherlock, who cringed.

"It was an accident, and I _did_ apologise," he defended. "In any case, since then I haven't been able to stop thinking and dreaming about her. Today, when I tried to compliment her when we arrived at your place after the christening, I saw nothing but disdain in her eyes, and she told me I couldn't manipulate her anymore." He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay. "It was when she walked away from me that I knew I loved her." Despite himself a tear slipped down his cheek. "I love her, and she hates me now."

The tale finally told, his soul unburdened, Sherlock turned away and hunched over in his chair, burying his face in his hands and finally allowing the tears to fall freely, uncaring of his audience. What did it matter anyway? He had lost the only woman he would ever love. He could allow himself some time to grieve over it.

After a minute or so, he caught a whiff of fragrance and felt a gentle hand stroking his hair comfortingly. "You've made mistakes, Sherlock, and now there are obviously trust issues to worry about, but I don't think it's too late."

Sherlock swiped at his tears and raised his head to look at the serene gaze of Mary. "How can you say that? I betrayed her, in the worst way possible. I pushed her away, then I gave her mixed signals on top of it. She'll never forgive me, and I don't blame her."

She regarded him seriously. "You'd definitely need to do something pretty spectacular to prove to her your feelings are genuine and that you won't change your mind again." She paused for a moment, as if trying to find a solution. His mouth dropped open in surprise with her next words. "Sherlock, you love her, but do you love her enough to marry her?"

Once he had got over his surprise at it, he found himself saying without any reservation, "Yes, I'd marry her in a heartbeat, if she'd have me."

"What the hell, Mary?" came John's voice from the sofa. "Isn't that a bit extreme?"

Mary turned and cast her husband a stern glance. "Molly clearly believes in the institution of marriage or she would not have been engaged before, even if it did not work out because she obviously realised she was in love with Sherlock."

"And you think a proposal of marriage by Sherlock would indicate the seriousness of his intentions?" asked John sceptiacally, gently rocking his infant in his arms. "I still think that's taking things a bit far. It isn't like they've been seeing one another for months and are ready for that next step."

Mary rolled her eyes. "So, you think every man should be like you and take a year to make up his mind that he wants to make things official? Sherlock and Molly have known one another and been friends for years. I'd say that's a good basis for a permanent romantic relationship."

Sherlock watched his friends again engaging in their verbal sparring. Mary was rather magnificent really, he reflected. He couldn't help feeling rather impressed when Mary delivered the knock-out punch to validate her argument.

"Besides," she said, folding her arms and pressing her lips together briefly before continuing, "if we hadn't been married and I hadn't been pregnant when you found out about my past, would you have walked away?"

"I...I don't know," admitted John. Then he added slowly, "but the fact is, we _were_ married, and we had made a commitment, so I wanted to work through it. That's what marriage is about, being able to forgive and move on, isn't it?"

Sherlock listened with continued interest as Mary nodded, then said, "Exactly. You were committed to me. Molly feels betrayed by Sherlock right now. I think his best option is to show he is truly committed to her and won't change his mind again. What better way than to make a public declaration of it?"

John furrowed his brow. "I sort of understand what you're saying, but still - marriage? Why can't Sherlock just tell Molly he loves her and have him ask for her forgiveness for now? They could at least go out for a few weeks before looking to make it permanent. At least observe the usual societal conventions instead of jumping ahead to the finish line."

Mary frowned at him. "Sometimes I wonder why I married you when you have no clue about the way people think. If you were paying attention to what Sherlock has been saying instead of trying to reconcile your own antiquated views on convention, you would recognise that Molly is very hurt right now." Her hands moved to her hips, and she continued firmly, turning her back to Sherlock so she faced her husband properly, "My woman's intuition tells me that it's going to take more than an apology and a declaration of love for her to trust Sherlock again."

Sherlock stood and placed his hands on Mary's shoulders from behind. "Mary, I'll do _anything_ to prove to Molly that I'm sincere. Asking her to marry me is no hardship. I want a future with her. I want to have what you and John have, including perhaps a family of my own. I only wish it hadn't taken me this long to acknowledge that fact."

Mary turned towards him and smiled. She put her arms around him and hugged him and Sherlock awkwardly reciprocated, unused to the sentiment, but rather pleased. "I always knew you were a good man, Sherlock," she said sincerely, when she pulled back from the friendly embrace. "I also think you and Molly would be wonderful parents."

He gave Mary a lopsided grin and then looked from her to John, who was still rocking the baby gently. "So, which one of you will volunteer to help me find a ring?"

"Seeing as I have some experience in these matters, I suppose I'm the logical choice," remarked his friend.

"You should go out as soon as possible," advised Mary, and Sherlock had to agree. He'd waited long enough, and until this was resolved one way or another, he would be unable to concentrate on any more cases. If Molly said no, he'd learn to live with it and move on. But oh, if she said yes, he would do his utmost to make things up to her for the rest of their lives.

Plans were made for late afternoon the following day after John would be finished at the clinic.

The next day, Sherlock spent the time before John arrived, researching engagement rings. It was astounding how many types there were. There were different cuts, different clarity grades, different sizes. Did he want a solitaire or a diamond surrounded by other stones? Did he want a different type of stone entirely for the engagement ring? One thing Sherlock discounted immediately, was diamonds set in the band itself. He recalled Molly's previous engagement ring had those and there was no way he was going to give her anything the would remotely remind her of that Todd bloke. A round diamond was also definitely out. The whole prospect was daunting.

By the time John had arrived, the only thing Sherlock had decided on was that he wanted to find a diamond ring for Molly, rather than a different gem.

John was not pleased with him when they had been into a dozen different shops with no success. Nothing was quite right. The diamond was either too large or too small, or the wrong shape or had too many inclusions, the technical term for flaws. Sherlock had decide on a heart shape, and those were not common.

At last, feeling rather desperate, they made their way into a small shop called Burnell's Fine Jewellery. Here, at last, they met with success. Sherlock was able to view heart shaped diamonds of varying sizes that could have a ring fashioned around them. Selection duly made and paid for, with an extra sum added to create the ring within two days, Sherlock and John left the shop.

"You're lucky the man recognised you as a famous detective, or there is no way you'd be getting your ring ahead of orders that had been placed first," remarked John as they entered a taxi and Sherlock gave instructions for the driver to head to John's place.

Sherlock shrugged. "Well, at least my _fame_, as you call it, can count for something. God knows I hate the attention usually."

Jon stretched out his legs awkwardly in the confines of the taxi. "All I'll say is, if you dragged me all over London for nothing, and Molly refuses you, you're going to owe me, big-time," he grumbled.

Sherlock shot his friend an irritated look. "I'll thank you to not make comments that will increase my anxiety, John, when it is already at a heightened level."

John's lips quirked. "If Mary is to be believed, and I trust my wife, things will come right in the end. I just want you to be happy, mate, and if Molly is the one who can do that for you, I'm behind you all the way."

"Yeah, well, from your lips to God's ears," responded Sherlock soberly.

John nudged him. "Thought you didn't believe in God."

Sherlock frowned. "I don't, but if things go my way, I'm prepared to concede the possibility that there might be a higher power involved in it."

John looked at him seriously. "Well, mate, I _do_ believe in God. It would be hard to go through a war and not believe when you see the miraculous way some people have escaped certain death. You've escaped death yourself in the past, so maybe it's a sign that you _should_ believe in a power higher than yourself. It really takes the pressure off of you in feeling like you have to be right all the time."

Sherlock couldn't help the short laugh that escaped his lips. Maybe his friend was right. "I'll take that under advisement," he told his friend, then spent the rest of the way to John's and then Baker Street, planning how he was going to get Molly to even talk to him, let alone allow him to propose.

For the first time he found himself praying to the God he didn't believe in. _Help me God. If you are really out there, help me make Molly understand I'm sincere. If she does, I promise I won't denounce you again as a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot. I'll know that I was the idiot instead for writing you off as such_.

And was it his imagination or did he feel an invisible presence offer him a measure of hope as he prepared for bed later that night? Maybe.

* * *

**Author's note: **Well now, what did you think of Mary's advice to Sherlock? I know a lot of stories out there show Sherlock and Molly at the end happily content in a live-in relationship and sometimes even with a baby on the way without the benefit of marriage. I could see Sherlock being okay with that as an atheist, but my head canon for Molly will always be that she wouldn't truly be content with merely a live-in relationship. She was engaged to Tom, after all, and I think that indicates her feelings about a legal commitment. So yeah, marriage will always be the end game for my stories.

By the way, in this chapter I used the fictional jewellery shop that I created for my initial story.

I hope you enjoyed the continued verbal sparring between John and Mary.

Anyway, how do you think Molly will react? Is she going to make Sherlock grovel? As Sherlock said in TSoT - "Would anyone like to make a guess? Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q & A to all of this."


	5. An Earnest Declaration

The next day, Sherlock decided to try and reach out to Molly. He would have the ring the following day, so it seemed a good idea to make arrangements to see her if possible. With that in mind, he sent her a text.

_Molly, I need to talk to you._

He knew Molly was probably at work, so he put his phone down and fixed himself a sandwich for lunch. He listened carefully for his text alert but heard nothing. When he looked at his phone again, the message showed as read, but there was no response, so he tried again.

_Molly, please, I need to talk with you. It's important._

Perhaps she would respond more favourably because he had asked nicely and said it was important?

He waited another half hour and heard no text alert. When he checked his phone again, it showed she had read the text but had again not responded.

He sighed. How on earth was he going to make things up with her, or attempt to do so, if she refused to see him?

This time his text was a little more terse.

_For God's sake, Molly, I know you are reading my texts. Stop ignoring me and respond._

He waited impatiently for a response and was gratified to see the little dots that indicated she was texting him back. When the message came through though, he almost threw his phone down in frustration.

_Leave me alone, Sherlock. We have nothing to say to one another. If you don't quit texting me, I will block your number._

Sherlock wondered despairingly what to do next. He had no murders to investigate or reasons to go to the hospital. Eventually he knew he would have some case or another and need to work with Molly again, but he didn't want to wait that long.

Sherlock set his phone down and sat in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him and closing his eyes. Finally he decided there was only one solution, he was going to have to force the issue.

With that in mind, Sherlock placed a call to Mike Stamford. Stamford had known him for many years and was used to his requests for body parts when Molly wasn't providing them, and he had the supervisor's direct line. Fortunately, the man answered his phone and provided an answer to Sherlock's casual enquiry with the information he needed to know - Molly was working until six the next day.

_Good,_ thought Sherlock, after he had ended the call. _That should give me time to pick up the ring and head over to Molly's flat before she gets home. If I'm inside her own flat, she can't avoid me. _He decided he'd even pick up some chips for her as a peace offering.

For the rest of the day, Sherlock forced himself to check his emails and respond to some potential clients. Molly or no Molly, he had to earn a living.

That night he dreamed of Molly again, disturbing dreams where she rejected him and his proposal, stating she never wanted to see him again, dreams where there was nothing in her eyes but indifference. But there were also erotic ones, ones where she accepted his declaration and he was able to kiss her, to touch her, do all those things that had never interested him in the past. He woke in a feverish sweat, tangled in his sheet, feeling a physical desire that was quite alarming. For the first time he considered what it would be like to be intimate with a woman, with Molly. If she accepted his declaration of love, and that was a big if, would he even be able to measure up to her ex-fiancé in the bedroom? Was he even ready for a physical relationship like that? He didn't really know but he supposed he would find out if things turned out the way he hoped.

Needless to say, after those worrying reflections, he tossed and turned and eventually got out of bed earlier than planned. He did not fancy any more nightmares or erotic dreams either.

Feeling he needed to look his absolute best for the confrontation with Molly, Sherlock showered, shaved and put on his purple shirt, one he had worn in the past and noticed a glint of admiration in Molly's eyes. He needed every weapon in his arsenal.

The hours seemed to pass so slowly as Sherlock waited for lunch to arrive when he knew the engagement ring would be ready for him to pick up.

When he arrived at the jeweller's soon after one o'clock in the afternoon, he was pleased that the ring was ready and waiting. He had given the shop clerk Molly's ring size confidently, having observed her hands many times in the lab and morgue, and he inspected the newly crafted ring that housed the heart-shaped diamond. He imagined how it would look on Molly's finger. The diamond would sparkle on her finger without overpowering it, he thought.

Returning home, Sherlock spent some time tidying the flat. This was a rare occurrence, but he was trying to do something, anything, to distract himself from thinking about what was to happen later.

At five o'clock, Sherlock headed for his favourite fish shop, picked up enough chips to share with Molly and took a taxi to her flat. He had brought his lock-picking tools with him but hoped he wouldn't need them. Years earlier, when he had stayed with Molly after the fall, she had told him to check in a slit of her front door mat for the spare key to let himself in. Sherlock hoped she still kept the key there.

After he was dropped off by the taxi, Sherlock checked to make sure nobody was in sight and looked for that slit in the door mat she still used to hide her spare key. He was in luck. He extracted the key and unlocked the door, then returned the key to its hidden place and entered the flat after making sure once again that there was nobody in the vicinity to see him doing so.

Rather than leave his Belstaff on the coat hook where it would be immediately visible to an entering Molly, Sherlock took it off and laid it over the sofa. He did not want to risk Molly taking one look at him as soon as she entered and make an immediate exit. She needed to be inside so he could prevent her from escaping. _Escaping, _he thought to himself. _How humiliating to think Molly might wish to escape from me, as if I'm a dangerous criminal._

He placed the container of chips next to the sink, then settled himself comfortably on the sofa and waited for Molly to get home. He patted his trouser pocket several times, as if to reassure himself that the small box was still in there and hadn't fallen out. Yep, still safe in his pocket.

He crossed and uncrossed his legs several time, doing the same with his arms, contemplating whether he should pull out his phone and play some sudoku as he waited, but decided he didn't want anything to distract him once Molly arrived.

At around half past six, Sherlock finally heard the key in the lock and his heart began to beat faster in anticipation and, if he was honest with himself, trepidation at what lay ahead. At least she had not gone out to eat after work and had come straight home.

He turned his head slightly to observe Molly as she entered and his breath caught. Her hair was neatly braided to the side and she was wearing a striped jumper, the one she had worn on the day they had spent together after he had returned to London and she had acted as his assistant.

Sherlock kept very still as Molly dropped her keys and handbag onto her dining table, then hung up her jacket. Then she seated herself at the table, leaned her elbows upon it and buried her face in her hands wearily, as if it had been a very long day. Sherlock could see by the set of her hunched shoulders that she was indeed tired and then unexpectedly he heard it, agonising sobs were wracking her body, sobs that tore at his own heart.

It was those sobs that suddenly gave him a glimmer of hope. There was every chance she was crying over doing a traumatic post-mortem, perhaps that of a child, but there was also a chance that he was the reason she was crying, and if so, perhaps all was not lost for them.

Deciding to take the initiative and announce his presence, Sherlock stood and walked towards her. It wasn't until he laid a hand on her shoulder that she jerked violently and gasped. _Oops,_ he thought with a grimace, _perhaps I should have announced my presence with words._

As soon as she became aware it was him, the fear in Molly's eyes changed to anger as she jerked herself away from his hand, and her brows drew together as she looked at him. "What the _hell_ are you doing here, Sherlock? How dare you break into my flat this way!"

Sherlock returned his hand to his side. "Technically, I did not break in. I used your spare key."

Molly brushed impatiently at the tears on her face and Sherlock could tell she was trying to compose herself. "I knew I should have found a new place for it," she muttered, then addressed him again. "Well, you are not welcome here, so please just leave."

Instead of doing as she asked, he pulled out a chair and sat in it. "I told you we needed to talk, Molly. This seemed my only option after you refused to speak to me and threatened to block my number," he explained mildly.

Molly glared at him. "And I told you we had nothing to talk about. What don't you understand, Sherlock? Is plain English too hard for you these days?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "If you would just give me a few minutes of your time, I can explain everything. This is about us, Molly, and our future."

Molly's hands balled into fists where they rested on the table and her expression was remote as she looked into his eyes. "I gave you _years_, Sherlock. Years for you to determine whether you were capable of more than just friendship with me. I never pushed you into anything." Her gaze drifted away then as she focussed on the table in front of her. "And just when I thought you had realised there was something between us that you wanted to pursue, you took my heart and stomped on it. You broke it into a million pieces and now I'm trying to move on from that, so why can't you just leave me in peace?"

Sherlock reached a hand out to cup it over one of her tightly clenched fists and she tensed, but did not pull it away. "I can't do that, Molly. We can't just leave things like this. We've been friends for a long time and-" he wanted to tell her more, but she interrupted him.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I can't do this anymore. I can't be friends with you after this, it hurts too much. I think it would be best if I left St. Bart's and found another hospital. That way we won't need to see each other anymore." Her eyes were still focussed on the table, and he heard the note of raw pain in her voice.

"No!" he burst out. "You can't do that, not now!"

She looked up at him again and her eyes were dull, lifeless, no longer carrying anger in them. "Why not? It is too uncomfortable for me to be around you. I'm embarrassed that you ever found out about my feelings for you. Knowing you don't feel the same way, I can't pretend to myself anymore that it will ever happen for us. And on top of that, you think I'm some kind of puppet you can play with, or an experiment." Her voice broke on the last word and Sherlock could see tears forming again at the corners of her eyes.

"You're not an experiment, Molly. Please, you just have to listen to me." He reached out his other hand so that both were now encircling her still clenched fist.

She opened her mouth to speak but he didn't let her. "I came here to tell you I love you, Molly."

Her eyes grew wide in shock and she opened her mouth again to speak but he plunged on. "Please believe me. I love you. I didn't know it until you brushed me off at John's on Sunday."

Her lower lip trembled. "I don't believe you. This is just a trick to get me to stay, because you're afraid you won't be able to find someone else you can work with, or someone to provide you with body parts for your experiments."

"It's not a trick," he insisted, understanding that Mary had been right in thinking he had destroyed Molly's trust in him. He released his grasp on her hand and fumbled in his pocket, desperate to find the one thing that he hoped would prove his sincerity.

He pulled out the box and set it on the table in front of her. Molly stared at it in confusion, her eyes lifting to his with a question in them.

"Open it," he urged. "You need to know I'm not going to change my mind this time."

She bit her lip and slowly, cautiously, lifted the hinged lid, then gasped. "I don't believe it," she said, and her voice was barely above a whisper.

Sherlock stood and walked the few steps to where she sat, and her eyes followed his progress.

"Believe it," he told her gently. "I assure you that John can vouch for the fact that I dragged him all over London for this just two days ago. I wanted to prove to you that I finally understand and acknowledge everything I've been fighting for years. I'm not fighting it anymore, Molly, and I'm not high either."

He saw Molly swallow, even as he reached for her hand to draw her to her feet. He thought about dropping to one knee in the traditional manner but decided to forgo it. She knew his intent anyway. Instead, he withdrew the ring from its box and held it in his hand. He needed to tell her everything that was in his heart before he offered the ring to her.

"Molly, please forgive me for all the hurt I've caused you. On Sunday, when you looked at me with such coldness, such disdain, I was sure I'd lost you forever, and that was when I finally acknowledged the truth to myself."

Molly opened her mouth to speak, but he placed a finger of his free hand to her lips. "Please, Molly, let me finish." She nodded, and he took his finger away. "Molly, you've known me for years, called me out when I needed to be called out, helped me when I needed help. Sometimes I've felt you knew me better than I knew myself. To be honest, I don't even know what you saw in me to make me worthy of your affection. You're too good for me, and that's probably why I never wanted to acknowledge the truth, because you deserve better than me." He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then continued.

"But denying the truth doesn't make it any less true." Finally, he extended the hand with the ring towards her. "I love you, Molly Hooper. I don't know if it's too late for me to tell you this, but you have my heart, whether you want it or not. The heart shape of this diamond signifies that it is yours, no matter what your response is. Will you marry me and let me try to be the man you always believed I could be?"

She looked up at him, then the ring. "I...I don't know what to say, Sherlock. This-" here, a tear slid down her face, "Well, it's the last thing I ever expected from you."

God, she was making it difficult. "A simple yes or no, will suffice. If you say no, I killed the love you felt for me by my idiocy, I will accept that and know I'm getting what I deserve."

The seconds ticked by as he waited anxiously for a response. The ball was in her court now, he'd laid his soul bare and exposed his heart. She had the power to utterly shatter him, to destroy what he knew would be his only chance at having a semblance of a normal life and a future family.

When Molly still didn't speak, Sherlock lowered the hand holding the ring and turned away, and he felt a pain worse than any physical one he had ever endured, worse than being tortured in Serbia, worse than being shot by Mary. He had his answer. He had gambled and lost.

* * *

**Author's note:** So, finally Sherlock has unburdened himself to Molly. Will she accept him at his word now or continue to be skeptical?

Next chapter I'll be switching to a Molly POV so you get a glimpse of her own feelings into Sherlock's behaviour towards her since he rebuffed her.

Appreciate your responses and deductions, folks, don't be shy! Your feedback keeps me motivated to continue writing, so if that means something to you and you want to be a cog in the wheel of my creativity, be an active rather than passive reader.


	6. The Perfect Man for Molly

It was all so surreal. Weeks earlier she had read a letter where Sherlock had said he loved her. Molly's heart had surged with love for him and she had felt such joy to think that he, Sherlock Holmes, was at last returning the love she had held for him for so long. It was a long-awaited answer to prayer.

When he had pushed her away after she kissed him, it had been a devastating blow. She felt raw, exposed and embarrassed. To discover his words had only been written while he was high and that he didn't mean them after all was like a knife to her heart, and she had had to get out of there. The only defense mechanism she could find was anger, to use it as a cover for the hurt he had caused her.

After a week had passed, the hurt had lessened somewhat, and Molly was no longer crying herself to sleep each night. She knew Sherlock would be coming in to the hospital to view a body on which she had done a post-mortem and she steeled herself to remain neutral in his presence, so he would not be aware of how deeply the hurt of his rejection continued to sear her soul.

Sherlock's comment on her brilliance had surprised and pleased Molly, but his next action in kissing her had brought all that hurt surging back to the surface. How _dare_ he treat her that way? He knew how she felt about him and here he was, confusing her and trying to work his way into her heart again so he could rip it to shreds once more.

And this time, the anger stayed with her at his actions. Molly had been taught all her life to be slow to anger and quick to forgive, as she had learned in the Bible, and she had always felt she had followed those principles very well. But this, this was too much for anyone to bear. When the love she bore for Sherlock remained her own secret, she could pretend that one day he would return those feelings and she was prepared to wait for as long as it took, but when he had rejected her, he had shredded those tiny scraps of hope and set fire to them. That unprompted kiss by him had just added fuel to the fire and her torment.

Yes, anger was Molly's only recourse and she held onto it with all her might, using it as a shield.

She was able to avoid him that day when they were both visiting John and Mary and their new baby, but she was unable to do so on the day of the christening. She was, after all, standing right next to him. She had been rather shocked at the way Sherlock had behaved during the service, playing on his phone instead of listening to the words of the sacrament. Of course, she wasn't really surprised. She knew Sherlock didn't believe in God and that he was only there for the cake that would follow. That unbelief was something she had also prayed about, that he would one day come to know God as she did.

She would have continued to avoid him at the little celebration afterwards, and was caught off guard when Sherlock approached her and complimented her. This time, though, she knew she had to make it clear that she would not be manipulated anymore by him. When he had unexpectedly left without eating cake, she had been secretly glad that she would not have to deal with him again, even as she had wondered about his abrupt exit. Perhaps he had felt guilty at last for his treatment of her.

And then had come those texts. She hadn't intended to answer them, but he had forced her hand. When she had sent him that angry text and had not heard back from him, she had assumed he had finally got the message.

It was a shock, therefore, to find Sherlock in her flat, her haven of refuge. Her anger returned full force at the nerve he had shown by entering her home without permission, witnessing her weakness to the tears she continued to shed over him. Why did her heart continue to leap just at the sight of him despite her determination to get over him? Why did he still have to be so attractive to her hungry eyes? Why had God put these feelings in her heart if they were to forever remain unrequited?

She felt angry not only with him, but with herself too for being such an idiot as to continue to be affected by him. However, his persistence in wishing to speak with her turned that anger back to hurt as he reminded her of their friendship. For the first time, Molly seriously considered leaving her job behind so she would not have to deal with Sherlock in the future. Being in his presence affected her too much, to the point where she knew she couldn't return to just being friends with him anymore, not now that he knew how she felt. Her brain started to frantically come to terms with her own snap decision to leave St. Bart's and Sherlock behind forever. It really was the only solution.

Then he had pulled the rug out from under her feet and sent her reeling. Sherlock's profession of love had completely shocked her, and her first reaction had been to not believe him, he was just manipulating her again so she would stay and be his pathologist, the only person who would tolerate him in the morgue or lab.

But then he had pushed that box at her, a box which was the type to hold a ring. It was so completely out of the blue. And she had been even more astonished when she had opened the box to find a heart-shaped solitaire diamond ring in it. Her first thought was that he must really be desperate to keep her as his pathologist if he was willing to go to such extreme measures, but then she realised he had not even known she was considering leaving the hospital, indeed she had not even thought of it herself until minutes earlier.

She listened in astonishment at the words that flowed out of his mouth, the confession of love that she had longed to hear, the assurance that he was not high this time. Even the fact that John knew about it indicated Sherlock was telling the truth.

It was hard to process all that Sherlock was saying, and she was hardly able to force the words about not knowing what to say out of her mouth before she retreated into her own thoughts, replaying Sherlock's words in her head, even as she looked at him without really seeing him.

He had wounded her, deeply and, she had thought, irrevocably. Everything pointed to the fact he was telling her the truth, that he truly loved her and wanted to be with her. He had laid his own heart open to her now and she had to decide whether she could put the past behind her, trust him again.

It was only when Sherlock turned away from her in defeat, that she realised she had been thinking about things for too long, that he had assumed the worst. God had given her a heart for forgiveness and she felt the pieces of that damaged heart being healed, restored even as it swelled with love for Sherlock and she put out her hand to grasp his arm, to let him know her response.

First though, she needed to offer him what he needed to hear, what Jesus had taught her was an important part of being a Christian. "I forgive you, Sherlock," she said softly and knew that forgiveness to be the truth. She felt clean once again in offering the same forgiveness she herself had received from God when she had put her hope and faith in Jesus as her Saviour. True forgiveness didn't come with strings attached. It was offered without reservation, without conditions, and she needed Sherlock to understand that before anything else.

He turned back to look at her. "Thank you, Molly." His eyes searched hers uncertainly. "Is that all? Will you let me prove myself to you, will you accept my proposal?"

Suddenly Molly's heart felt incredibly light and she smiled. "I should make you court me first, you know, bring me chocolates and flowers every day; take me out to dinner and make romantic gestures that will sweep me off my feet. You put me through a lot, Sherlock, for many years, and I think I deserve some pampering."

Sherlock gave a frustrated huff. "Dammit Molly. You're putting _me_ through hell here. I'll go out and buy some bloody flowers and chocolate if you want them. I'll take you out to dinner every night we are both free if you need me to prove myself further. I'll do whatever it takes to rekindle your love for me. For God's sake, just give me some hope that the eventual answer will be yes."

His tone was rather desperate and Molly knew she had punished him enough. "There's nothing to rekindle because I never stopped loving you, despite everything. With that being said, yes, I'll marry you."

There was a sudden light in his eyes she had never seen before. "Say it again, Molly. Say you'll marry me," he urged, and his voice was husky and deep.

She couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her lips, and it was one of pure happiness. "Yes, yes, I'll marry you." But still, she couldn't help adding, "You're absolutely sure that this is what you want? I mean, most people go out for at least a few months before making such a momentous decision."

He reached for her left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger, even as he said, with an expression of utmost tenderness in his eyes, "As you pointed out before, I've had years already to determine what I wanted and it's you, Molly. I have no intention of taking any chances of losing you. I lost you once already to that Tim fellow."

Molly looked at the the ring on her hand then smiled up at him."It was Tom, not Tim, and you know it. If you hadn't left for two years, I would never have been with him anyway, and you were the reason I ended it."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Nevertheless, I'm very jealous that he took your affections for some time, shared your bed and planned a future with you."

Hearing those heartfelt words, Molly knew it was time to come clean and began to twist the new ring on her finger. "Uh, Sherlock, there's something I should probably tell you. I haven't exactly always been truthful with you."

He looked at her uncomprehendingly. "I don't understand. I've never detected any falsehood in you."

Molly bit her lip and cast her eyes downwards as she made her confession. "Well, I might have, uh, exaggerated a little that day in the lab, when I told you Tom and I were having a lot of sex."

She looked up at him again, nervous about his reaction. To her surprise, Sherlock's expression cleared. "Oh, that. Don't worry, I already deduced you were lying. I suspect your frequency of sexual intimacy was far less than you were stating." He stilled her nervous ring twisting by putting his hands over hers and clasping them gently in his own. "I hope you know, when the time comes, I will be counting on you to tell me how to please you in that department. I-" here he suddenly looked a little self-conscious as he said the next words, "lack the practical experience."

Molly stared at him in shock. She knew he had never been a man of sentiment, at least as long as she had known him, but still, he had been a young man once and there had been that woman in the morgue. "Never? Not even that woman whose body was in the morgue, the one you identified by her body, rather than her face?"

He flushed and shook his head. "The body was a decoy for a real woman I knew who was pretending to be dead. She worked for Moriarty, and the first time we met she decided it would be fun to present herself to me naked." Then he added, much to her surprise and her heartbeat accelerated as he said his next words, "I've never been interested in sharing my bed with anyone, Molly." His lips quirked. "That is, not until you."

This time it was Molly's turn to blush at the thought of what it would be like to be with Sherlock that way. But she had to finish her own confession first. "I didn't finish telling you about Tom and me. The truth is, he never shared my bed, nor has anyone else, so you see, I too lack the practical experience."

Sherlock stared at her in astonishment. "Molly, you were engaged for months to the man. Are you telling me you _never _slept with him? Does he not have eyes in his head that he wouldn't want to have sex with you?"

Molly pulled her hands from his and folded her arms defensively in front of her. "Why would you think _he_ was the one who didn't want it while I did? Actually the reverse is true. I told him I wanted to wait for the wedding night. I was in no hurry, and it just didn't feel right." She looked down in embarrassment, although why she should feel embarrassed about being a virgin, she didn't know. There should be no shame in that.

Sherlock put his hand beneath her chin and tilted it upwards. "I'm prepared to wait for the wedding night, if that is what you wish, but in that case, I sincerely hope you will not ask for a prolonged engagement as you had with your former fiancé. I can't help feeling a little sorry for the poor fellow. He must have been a saint."

"He was a good man, Sherlock, and I think I could've been happy with him if you had never returned. But the fact is, once you came back, my feelings for you returned to the surface and despite my best efforts, I couldn't get enthusiastic about marrying him, so I kept putting him off." She stopped talking and frowned. Why were they even discussing things of a sexual nature? They hadn't even shared a mutually desired kiss yet. "Can we talk about this later Sherlock? You asked me to marry you and we have never even kissed properly." She flashed him a grin. "I promise not to slap you this time."

Sherlock smiled back at her and bent closer. His hand shifted so it was cradling the side of her face, and the other hand mirrored it on the other side. "I think that sounds like a very good idea," he agreed and Molly slid her hands around his waist, then closed her eyes.

The kiss did not disappoint. She felt the touch of his lips and this time her heart sang as exquisite sensations shot through her. His lips covered hers, moving against them insistently until hers opened to him. It was the most wonderful, intense kiss she had ever experienced. It was like reaching the finish line after a marathon, or the final note of the glorious triumphal scene in the opera Aida.

When Sherlock finally raised his head and gazed deeply into her eyes, she saw her love mirrored in his own. "God, Molly, how on earth did I not know for so long that this is what I wanted, what I needed from you?" His voice was low and filled with passion, and she vibrated to it. Every nerve ending was on fire with heat. Tom's kisses had never evoked a reaction in herself like that, nor any of the few kisses she had shared with other men over the years. This was so different.

"I love you, Sherlock," she said softly, and then flushed with embarrassment as her stomach gave a sudden gurgle.

Sherlock grinned. "I brought dinner for us, and it appears you are hungry."

"You did?" Molly looked around and spotted a wrapped cardboard container by the sink.

"It's only chips and I'm afraid they will be cold by now, but we can reheat them," Sherlock remarked, following her line of sight.

"Alright, thank you," she responded, thinking how thoughtful it had been of Sherlock to bring dinner with him. "If you want to put on the kettle, I'll get the chips into the oven."

"I think I need to kiss you again first," Sherlock stated firmly and Molly was not about to protest as his lips found hers again and he kissed her until they were both a little breathless and flushed with this newfound passion.

It was so strange, working side-by-side in this domesticated way, rather than at the lab, Molly thought a few minutes later. Then she realised that this was how things would be in the future. It was strange to think she wouldn't be alone anymore.

When the chips were ready, Molly put them onto two plates and took them to the table while Sherlock carried over their tea. "Wow, these chips are great," she commented. There was something other than salt on them.

"I know," agreed Sherlock. "The secret is chicken salt, and it is imported from Australia. I was going to take you to the fish shop that day I found out you were engaged."

Molly thought back with regret to that day. It had indeed been special, and it had been the beginning of the end for Tom and herself, even though it had taken her months before she had finally decided to break things off. She thought rather guiltily that she had made her own errors in that relationship and it made her suddenly realise that she had also made mistakes along the way in her life choices. She had hurt Tom with her own inability to follow through in her promise to marry him, giving him false hope for months even though it had not been her intention to cause the hurt. That knowledge opened her eyes further into knowing that Sherlock had not intentionally hurt her either.

"I wish things had been different, Sherlock," she said softly. "I've made mistakes as well and I know that now. I should have called off my engagement as soon as you returned instead of stubbornly trying to ignore my own emotions and continuing love for you. Tom deserved better than that."

His hand brushed hers where it rested on the table. "We're all human, Molly. This may sound rather ridiculous, but in a way, I'm glad to see that you are not perfect. If you were, I could never reconcile myself to being with you, you would be too far out of reach."

Molly laughed. "I'm far from that. The only person in history who can claim to have lived a perfect life without sin is Jesus Christ." She knew it was a bit of a risk, revealing so much of her Christian belief to him, but he needed to be aware that it meant a lot to her, and by dropping little hints about it, she hoped to prepare him for the depth of that faith. It would need to be discussed sooner or later.

Sherlock gave her a curious look but did not press her further to explain which was fine for now.

After they had finished eating and everything was cleaned up, Sherlock pulled out his phone. "I want to FaceTime John and Mary, let them know what's happening. Is that okay with you?"

Molly's brows lifted. "You told me John was with you when you looked for my ring, but I didn't know Mary was involved as well." She walked over to the sofa as she spoke and sat down, then patted the seat next to her.

Sherlock sat, then responded. "Mary is the one who asked if I loved you enough to marry you. She thought it might take more than a mere declaration of love to get you to believe me."

Molly's lips curved upwards. "I really like her. She definitely seems to have an uncanny way of knowing things. I'm pretty sure she suspected I was in love with you."

Sherlock turned his head and kissed her cheek. "She's the one who told me she didn't think it was too late, when I was convinced I'd lost you forever."

"Well go on then, place the call so we can thank her."

Sherlock did so, and soon the image of Mary appeared on his phone. "Hello Mary," greeted Sherlock. "Is John with you?"

John's image appeared next to Mary's. "Right here, mate. You're not calling from Baker Street so I am assuming it's good news?"

Sherlock smiled, even as Molly leaned her head against his shoulder so they were both visible in the image that John and Mary would see. "Molly has agreed to become my wife," responded Sherlock. He took Molly's left hand with his free one and held it up so that their friends would see the image of the ring on her finger.

Mary beamed. "See, I told you it wasn't too late, Sherlock." Then she turned to her husband. "You owe me fifty quid, John." She turned to look back at the camera. "John was sure you wouldn't go through with it, Sherlock. He said you'd overanalyse things and end up deciding Molly was too good for you."

Sherlock's lips tightened and Molly patted his knee, answering in his stead. "John, Sherlock may not be the perfect man, but he's the perfect man for me, and he proved that tonight." She rubbed the side of her head lightly against Sherlock's shoulder and he gave her a grateful smile.

"Of course he is," agreed Mary. "I always thought the two of you were perfect for each other." Her head turned as the sound of a crying baby could be heard. "Duty calls. Enjoy your newly engaged status."

"Yeah, have fun, but not too much fun," said John with a wink.

"If I could have one more moment of your time, please, John?" asked Sherlock, as Mary disappeared from the picture to take care of her crying infant.

"What is it, mate?" enquired is friend.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, several months ago I acted as your best man at your wedding, and I was wondering if you would reciprocate the same honour for me?"

John grinned. "Hell, yeah I will. Can't wait to tell everybody all about the way you've finally grown up to become a man."

Sherlock pursed his lips and Molly giggled. "Perhaps I should have asked Mycroft," he muttered darkly. Then he added, "Of course that would necessitate me sharing the news with Mycroft to begin with."

John laughed. "Well, good luck with that, Sherlock. Congratulations again to both of you."

"Thank you, John," responded Molly, and Sherlock ended the call.

Molly looked at Sherlock. "Speaking of your brother, when are you going to tell him about this?"

Sherlock groaned. "I'm a little concerned about his reaction. He's the one who has always told me that caring is not an advantage, and that refrain has gone through my mind for years." Then he turned so he was angled more towards Molly. "I'm not going to tell him tonight, at any rate. I'd like to just enjoy some peace and quiet with my new fiancée, if that would be acceptable to you?"

Molly smiled at him. "Most acceptable." She put her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his curls, enjoying the silkiness, even as his lips came down on hers and they spent some time in a passionate embrace. By the end of it they were both struggling for air.

Sherlock's thumb stroked her cheek. "I could get used to this," he murmured, and Molly could see the love and passion in his eyes that she had longed to see for so many years.

_Oh, I could definitely get used to it as well, _she thought as he kissed her again until her lips were swollen with the intensity of them. She gasped a little as his lips trailed kisses to other parts of her face and her neck, and her pulse beat a mad tattoo. He evoked such sensations in her, ones she had never felt before, and she had the distinct feeling waiting for their wedding night was going to be a lot more difficult than her resolve with Tom.

Sherlock evidently felt the same way, because he finally pulled away and said huskily, "I had better go now. I'm enjoying this a little too much and I don't want to rush things between us. I want to enjoy getting to know you properly, in a way I haven't done in the past. Do you want to come to Baker Street tomorrow evening so we can make plans and talk further?"

She rested her head against his shoulder briefly, then looked at him. "I'd like that."

Sherlock took his leave soon after that, and Molly knew she was looking forward to the days that lay ahead, instead of dreading them as she had done when she had arrived home from work that evening. In the space of a few hours, Sherlock had replaced all the hurt and anxiety of the past years with the anticipation of a wonderful future. It was a miracle from God and she knew it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hoped you enjoyed Molly's inner reflections here and the backstory for how her heart had been severely wounded. I've had a couple comments where people have said Molly should not make things so easy on Sherlock in forgiving him so quickly. Here I must explain to people who may not typically read my whole collection of stories. This story is a dream set within the universe of my "real" characters. In the "real" world, Molly, also a Christian, has a naturally forgiving nature which I believe is an important aspect of that faith - to not hold grudges. Therefore, even though this is a Sherlock dream, that knowledge permeates his sleeping self and this Molly too is quite quick to forgive.

However, in light of those comments from others, I did revise what I had initially written to make Molly hold out a little longer with her talk of making him "court" her and I hope that will be enough to satisfy those of my readers who think she forgives too easily.

With that in mind, are you satisfied with the result of this chapter? Are you looking forward to seeing the reactions of other people to the news? I'd enjoy hearing what others think, even if it is in conflict to what I have written. I love to defend my reasoning!

One last thing, the comment Molly makes about Sherlock not being the perfect man, but the perfect man for her, was inspired by a reader who made that comment about her own husband. I thought it would be a wonderful way to describe Molly's feelings for Sherlock and I'm glad to have finally found an opportunity to use that in a story. So thank you, **merygrace**, wherever you may be now. Knowing and understanding the imperfections of one's own spouse is an important part of being able to maintain a healthy marriage without unrealistic expectations. I should know, my 21st wedding anniversary is coming up this week :)


	7. Interesting Reactions

Sherlock woke with a smile on his lips. He cast his mind back to the previous day. Had everything happened as he thought or was it just a fanciful yet extremely pleasing dream?

He replayed the events of the previous evening. Molly had definitely given him some anxious moments, which he fully deserved, but she had also forgiven him and was now wearing his ring. He suddenly remembered trying to make a bargain with the God he didn't believe in.

He looked up at the ceiling. "Well, God, I guess you showed me once and for all that I've been wrong."

For the second time in his life, Sherlock felt an unseen presence and he understood that he was never truly alone. He'd made many mistakes along the way, but now was his chance to make up for them.

Sherlock rose from his bed and got ready for the day, then contemplated how he would spend the time before Molly arrived in the evening. He supposed he ought to let Mycroft know the good news, and then perhaps in the evening he and Molly could speak to his parents. They would undoubtedly be surprised.

_Well, no time like the present, _he thought to himself as he pondered how to proceed for a few moments and then sent a text to his brother.

_Thought you might like to know I'm getting married._

The response came back quite quickly.

_Evidently, being around your friends and their new baby has stirred up feelings of sentiment in you. Who loves Sherlock enough to put up with him on a permanent basis, I wonder? It can't be a long list._

Sherlock huffed at his brother's text. Heaven forbid his brother would actually congratulate him.

_I'll give you a clue. She's about 5'4" tall, practical about death and lives alone._

Once again, Mycroft made a timely response.

_Please offer my condolences to Miss Hooper._

God, his brother could be such an arse.

_For one thing, she's a doctor, not a Miss. If the thought of my being married and happy is so detestable to you, feel free to skip the wedding as you did with John's._

He sent the text and frowned at his phone, awaiting the next snarky comment from his brother.

_Actually, brother mine, I have changed my mind. Thank your doctor instead for taking you off my hands. I will be happy to attend the wedding to make sure you don't get cold feet, or her, for that matter._

Sherlock thought of making an angry retort, but decided to take the upper road.

_Thank you. I'll be in touch with the details._

He wasn't really expecting a response to that, so was quite surprised when his text alert went off, indicating another message.

_I have good news for you. Mummy and Daddy are in town this afternoon for a matinee if you would like to inform them personally of your news. I can send them over to Baker Street this evening, if you like._

_Well, _Sherlock reflected, _that would certainly eliminate the need for a phone call._ It would also allow Molly to meet his parents for the first time.

_Very well,_ he responded. _I shall expect them at seven._

This time, when the response arrived, Sherlock couldn't suppress a grin. His brother did have a rather dry sense of humour.

_I'll take care of it, and have an ambulance on standby in case Mummy suffers a heart attack at the news._

Sherlock booted up his laptop to check on a few emails and look for potential cases that would not take up too much of his time - he had a wedding to plan, after all. Then he decided to go ahead and check on how one went about getting married. He understood some of it, of course, having assisted John and Mary with reception preparations, but when it came to the legalities of getting married, he had no clue.

Sherlock discovered that a minimum of 28 days notice was required at the local register office before getting married. That didn't seem too bad, although he most certainly didn't want to wait an inordinate amount of months before making things official with Molly. He'd already wasted enough years and was ready to take that step into a future with her that included, perhaps one day, a family of their own. It was strange how suddenly he felt anticipation at the thought of having his own child. Perhaps he'd have to offer his babysitting services to John and Mary on a regular basis in order to get some idea of what fatherhood would be like.

He was still daydreaming about his future with Molly, when he heard a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson entered, with her usual "Hoo hoo!"

His face lit up when he saw she was entering with several scones on a plate. As usual, he had forgotten about breakfast and here it was, almost lunchtime. Suddenly, his stomach growled.

"I suppose you skipped breakfast again," chided his landlady, walking over to him and presenting him with the scones. "I thought you might enjoy some of my fresh scones for lunch. Goodness knows how you'd survive if I didn't feed you once in a while."

Sherlock was just sniffing the scones appreciatively when her gaze fell upon his still open laptop, which was open at the page about registering for marriage. Her eyes widened. "Why are you looking up something related to marriage, Sherlock?" she asked curiously. "Are you working on a case?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. This was undoubtedly going to be a bit of a surprise. "Actually, Mrs. Hudson, I am researching things for my own wedding."

As he expected, Mrs. Hudson gave him an astonished look. Then her expression cleared as she said knowingly, "I expect you are trying to get all the information so you can pretend to be married for a case, and you want to make sure you understand how things work? I know how you do love your research."

Sherlock's lips quirked. "Not in this case, Mrs. Hudson. I assure you, I am not researching this in order to _pretend_ I am getting married. I truly _am_ getting married."

She clasped her hands together. "Oh, Sherlock, that is such wonderful news, so unexpected, though. Obviously it can't be John, seeing as he is married now. Is it perhaps that detective inspector fellow, now that he and his wife are divorced?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course not, Mrs. Hudson. Why does everyone assume that because I was not interested in a relationship before, that if I were suddenly interested, it would be with a man? Besides, both John and Greg have been married to females, so why would they suddenly decide they preferred a relationship with a man?"

Mrs. Hudson shrugged. "Live and let live, that's my motto. You know how it is these days, many people swing both ways. I've heard it's quite the thing now to keep your options open."

Sherlock frowned. "Perhaps for some, but not for me. I assure you I am only interested in a relationship with someone of the opposite gender, and one person in particular. Why on earth should you think otherwise?"

Mrs. Hudson looked thoughtful. "Perhaps it is because you don't seem comfortable in the presence of women in general, except maybe Mary. Do you even know any women?"

Sherlock walked with the plate of scones to the kitchen, rather than respond. He smiled slightly when his landlady followed him to the kitchen and finally came to the right conclusion.

"Oh, how silly of me. It's Molly, isn't it? It has to be. I've always suspected she had feelings for you, even if you never showed any signs of returning her affection...although there was that one Christmas when you did kiss her on the cheek and ask her forgiveness for your thoughtless comments."

He flushed at the memory and turned to look at her. "Recent events have caused me to see the error of my own ways. Molly has always been able to see me, the man, rather than the detective. I am only sorry it took me so long to see _her_ and acknowledge that she has been been stealing pieces of my heart for years, until I realised after the christening on Sunday that she had taken full possession of it."

Mrs. Hudson laid a hand on his arm. "I did notice there seemed to be some distance between you that day, come to think of it. Is she the reason you left the party so suddenly?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, but it is all resolved now and we are on the same page. I knew I had to show her the sincerity of my affections, and thank God she accepted my explanations and my proposal as well."

Mrs. Hudson looked at him curiously. "Thank God? That seems most unlike you, Sherlock. Aren't you the one who has always insisted there is no God?"

Sherlock regarded her seriously. "It appears I have been forced to reconsider my thoughts on that, in light of the fact I made a bargain with the God I did not believe in. When things between Molly and myself turned in my favour, I had to face the possibility, no indeed, the probability, that a higher power has been at work. In addition, Molly has sincere beliefs and I trust her and her judgment. On the basis of these things, I have concluded God does exist after all."

His landlady beamed. "Well that certainly seals the deal for me as to the sincerity of your regard for Molly, if she has been instrumental in helping you change your views on God. I'm very happy for you, Sherlock. So, is she moving to Baker Street?"

Sherlock leaned against the counter, wishing his landlady would just leave him to eat those scones already. He was getting hungrier by the minute. "Actually, we have not discussed that as of yet. She will be here this evening, and I suppose future living arrangements would be an appropriate topic of discussion." He looked pointedly at the scones. "Thank you for these scones, I shall enjoy them immensely."

Mrs. Hudson knew when to take a hint, thankfully. "I'll leave you to it then. I might pop up tonight then; do say hello and extend my congratulations to Molly as well."

"Oh, that reminds me, my parents will also be here this evening. Could you let them in for me?" Sherlock asked as Mrs. Hudson made her way to the door.

"Don't I always?" she responded over her shoulder, before taking her leave.

Indeed, she was not wrong on that score.

Time seemed to pass very slowly for Sherlock. He decided that, rather than waiting for Molly to arrive at Baker Street, he would instead surprise her and take her out to dinner at Angelo's. If she wanted, they could return to her flat afterwards so she could get changed. All he knew was that he was suddenly missing her desperately. How had he managed to suppress his feelings for so long? Well, he was certainly paying for it now with this constant longing to be in Molly's presence.

Sherlock considered texting Molly, just so he could have contact with her, but de the idea of just turning up at the hospital after she finished her shift seemed more appealing and spontaneous. Remembering Molly's quip sbout courting her, Sherlock decided to do just that, purchasing a dozen roses and a box of chocolates. He contemplated taking them to the hospital but decided to leave them at Baker Street in case Molly had not already let her colleagues know of their engagement.

When he finally arrived, after what seemed like days, at the hospital, Sherlock checked the morgue first. It was dark and silent. Then he went upstairs to the lab. She wasn't there either. He checked his watch and realised her shift was over which meant in all likelihood she was in the locker room, hanging up her lab coat and collecting her handbag.

His breath hitched when he quietly entered the locker room, and he saw Molly's back was to him as she hummed a tune he didn't recognise. He instinctively knew that he was the reason she was happy, and it brought a smile to his face.

She was wearing that cherry cardigan of hers which, oddly enough, heightened his attraction for her at that moment. He waited until she had closed the locker door and turned, then swooped in on her, with a murmur of, "Molly," pushing her back against the locker. She only had time to utter a surprised squeak and drop her handbag before his one arm came around her waist as the other caressed her face gently, and he kissed her thoroughly, feeling a heady surge of desire sweep through his body that he had never experienced before. She was the most beautiful creature on earth, he thought dizzily, as invisible sparks flew between them. Molly's hands reached up to curl around his neck, teasing the curls at his nape, and he luxuriated in the touch of those soft hands.

He continued kissing her, moving his mouth to trail kisses along her jawline and her throat, then lingering on that throbbing pulse which matched the feel of her chest rising and falling rapidly against his own heaving chest. He ached for her, and he knew his need must be as apparent to her as it was to him, with their bodies so closely connected. This was why people committed crimes of passion. For the first time Sherlock truly understood the intoxication of wanting to be with someone so desperately it drove them wild.

Molly let out a little whimper of pleasure, and he silenced it, moving his mouth back to hers to kiss her possessively, demandingly, even as her mouth opened further, inviting more intimate forays of his tongue. He was losing control of himself, and he knew it, yet he didn't care, and Molly seemed just as lost as he was in the wonder of it all.

He was just contemplating whether he should attempt to move his hand from her waist to cup her breast through her cardigan, when a voice came from the other side of the locker room. "Oh, my God. You really weren't kidding when you said you and Sherlock were engaged, Molly, were you?"

Sherlock immediately pulled back, feeling both frustrated and thankful for the interruption. He felt colour rising in his cheeks as he turned. Molly too looked exceedingly embarrassed.

The speaker was Molly's closest friend at the hospital, Kaitlyn. Sherlock didn't know her very well, but she knew of his reputation when it came to his single-minded dedication to his work, and he knew her to be the type of woman who spoke her mind without thinking first. He narrowed his eyes at her, taking refuge in annoyance, rather than dealing with the embarrassment of being caught in an almost compromising position. "And why, may I ask, would you think Molly would be making it up?"

Molly's hand slipped into his as Kaitlyn spoke. "Well, you've never seemed the type to go in for that sort of thing, you know, marriage and all, and I did hear you've tried the fake engagement thing before, so I thought perhaps this was really for a case that Molly was helping you with."

Sherlock looked at Molly who was now biting her lip in consternation. "I suppose John told you about Janine and the way I pretended to propose to her for that case I was working on months ago?" He raised an eyebrow.

Molly ducked her head. "Well, it wasn't a very nice thing to do and I was still upset with you about those drugs, so I might have mentioned it in passing a couple days later."

Sherlock frowned. "I'm surprised you would discuss something so personal with another person who had no connection to the case."

Molly pressed her lips together. "Like I said, I was not very happy with you at the time, and besides, you got yourself shot, remember? People were wondering why, so I told them." She gave him a meaningful look. "You know, that she shot you in a crime of passion when she realised you were using her for a case."

Sherlock swallowed. He had never considered people might wonder why he had been shot; the whole Magnussen connection had been covered up by Mycroft and the members of his department at the time. Magnussen himself had not wanted the unpleasant publicity, and had been quite content to see everything pertaining to that evening swept under the carpet. How ironic that a few minutes earlier Sherlock had been thinking about crimes of passion as he kissed Molly.

The clearing of a throat brought his attention back to the fact that he and Molly were not alone. Kaitlyn was looking directly at him. "Yeah, well, as I was saying, I thought Molly was going above and beyond to help you in a case, but I can see quite clearly now that I was mistaken. People putting on an act in public don't usually continue it in private with a rather hot snogging session like that." Kaitlyn looked at Molly then, who was blushing again at her friend's comment. "Sorry I acted so casual about it when you told me. Congratulations."

Molly smiled shyly. "Thank you."

"So, can I get to my locker now so I can go home as well?" asked Kaitlyn with a grin.

"Of course," responded Sherlock as Molly retrieved her handbag from the floor. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, tugging on Molly's hand so they could exit the locker room. He had used the endearment deliberately to further show his sincere attentions towards Molly, and he decided he really liked calling her that. By the smile that had lit up his fiancée's face, he knew she liked it too.

As they walked hand in hand to the lift, Sherlock asked, "Did everyone react the same way as Kaitlyn about the news of your engagement - if indeed you shared it with others?"

She looked up at him in surprise. "Sherlock, you're the love of my life. I broke off my engagement because I couldn't live a lie anymore. My colleagues have seen how that all affected me." She rested her head against his shoulder as he pressed the button for the lift, then continued. "At least half a dozen people noticed my ring and how happy I was before I said a word. So yes, of course I told them why I was so happy! Kaitlyn is the only one who was a bit suspicious, but that's because she knows me so well. She's the only one who new I've been angry with you lately, even though I was too hurt to explain to her why. I can understand why she was suspicious when I suddenly came in today sporting an engagement ring. She knows that when it comes to your work or anything you need I've always been willing to help you."

"Ah, I understand," responded Sherlock, feeling ashamed once again of the way he had hurt Molly. At least he was making amends.

The lift door opened and they entered. "So, what made you decide to come to the hospital?" Molly questioned. "I thought I was coming to Baker Street later."

"Change of plans," answered Sherlock, looking at her and wishing he dared kiss her again, but the lift ride would undoubtedly be too short for a satisfying kissing session. "I thought I'd take you to Angelo's for a proper celebration." He gave her a wry smile. "Also, apparently my parents are in town right now, so Mycroft is sending them around at seven, and I wanted us to discuss how we are going to break the news of our engagement in a way my mother doesn't suffer a heart attack." He chuckled slightly, remembering his brother's joke.

Molly, however, looked at him wide-eyed. "Is her health really so frail? Wouldn't any mother be happy to hear of a son getting married after so many years?"

The lift doors opened and they exited as Sherlock responded. "I was just joking. I'm sure she'll be delighted after my mantra over the past few years of being married to my work, and my disinterest in the institution of marriage. It might just take her awhile to get used to the idea."

Molly looked relieved. "Okay then. I'm not used to you making jokes, that's usually my job, you know, to make terrible jokes you force yourself to laugh at."

Sherlock grinned. "I'm trying to improve myself."

Once they arrived at Angelo's, the couple talked about their day. Molly talked about work and the reactions of various colleagues to her news. Sherlock told her about his talk with Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson, as well as researching the information about registering for marriage. The candle on the table created a glow in Molly's dark eyes that made Sherlock anxious to finish their dinner. He really wanted to get home and kiss her some more. Fortunately, Molly was happy to head straight to Baker Street rather than go home and do something completely unnecessary like get changed.

"What are you grinning like a Cheshire Cat for?" Molly asked in the taxi on their way to Baker Street.

He linked his fingers with hers and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "I estimate that after we exit the taxi we will have twenty-seven minutes in which to spend time kissing before my parents arrive."

Molly giggled and tuned her head so she was facing him. "We could start now, you know," and Sherlock was only too happy to comply with her wishes. Even as they kissed in the darkened interior, Sherlock wondered how he had allowed himself to think sentiment was a chemical defect. It was definitely producing a chemical high in his brain. He could certainly get used to this kind of high, it was much more intoxicating than any drug he had ever taken and far less dangerous.

Once at Baker Street, they hurried upstairs and entered 221B. Molly immediately saw the roses in the vase and the chocolates and looked at Sherlock with a delighted smile. "You really were paying attention last night when I said you ought to court me, weren't you?"

"Not at all," responded Sherlock with a teasing smile. "I thought I'd give them to my mother to prepare her for our news."

Molly's face fell slightly then she noticed his expression and laughed. "My goodness, Sherlock, you really are trying to improve yourself in telling jokes." She made a sudden exclamation. "Speaking of your parents, we never ended up discussing how we will break the news to them."

Sherlock waved airily. "Never mind, we'll just wing it. Enough wasting time on chit-chat," he told her with a smouldering look. "For now I wish to improve my kissing prowess." Sherlock walked Molly over to his chair and sat, pulling her onto his lap. They didn't spend the entire twenty-seven minutes kissing, but they certainly spent a good deal of it locked in a tight embrace. Sherlock laced his fingers through Molly's hair, which she had taken out of its ponytail, even as she threaded her own fingers through his curls. Then he massaged her shoulders and she did the same. Their movements mirrored one another. Finally they sat together as Molly rested her head against his shoulder, while he held her close with one arm and drew circles on the palm of her right hand with his left thumb.

It was with great reluctance that Sherlock released Molly when the doorbell rang.

By the time his parents came upstairs and knocked at the door, Molly was sitting primly in a chair next to his leather one, and Sherlock had straightened his suit jacket so it looked as neat as usual. He looked at Molly as he headed for the door. "Ready?"

"Ready," she responded and he reached the door, opening it to admit his parents.

* * *

**Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed seeing the reactions of various people to the news. Have you ever wondered what people at the hospital would have thought about Sherlock getting shot? I thought this would be a fun way to address it, to infer that Molly had told people it was Janine who had done it. I also always enjoy writing reactions from Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft. Poor Mrs. Hudson, I always feel like the show makes her seem a bit simple in the way she continues to think of John and Sherlock as being in a relationship rather than understanding men can simply be flatmates and platonic friends.

Did you catch my little nod to TFP in the conversation between Sherlock and Mycroft? I do have fun adding in canonic elements!

So, how will Sherlock's parents react to the news? I'd love to know what you think. Go on, this is your last to make a deduction before the final chapter.


	8. The Parents and the Promise

"Good evening, Mummy, Daddy." Sherlock ushered them over to the sofa, where they sat. Their gazes slid curiously over towards Molly. Obviously Mycroft had not told them anything about the news Sherlock intended to share.

Mummy spoke first. "So, Sherlock, what is so important you wanted to see us for, this evening? Usually you go to great lengths to avoid us whenever we are in town." There was a note of censure in her voice.

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I have some very important information to impart, but first I would like to introduce you to Doctor Molly Hooper."

He indicated Molly, and she stood, then walked to stand beside Sherlock. "Nice to meet you."

Sherlock's mother furrowed her brow. "Do we know you? Your name sounds quite familiar."

Sherlock opened his mouth to explain, but his father spoke first. "Violet, dear, isn't that the name of the person who helped Sherlock at the hospital when he faked his death? I'm sure I recall Mycroft telling us that her efforts were instrumental in the success of the plan."

Violet nodded and smiled at her husband. "You're quite right, dear." She looked at Molly. "It's nice to meet you at last, Doctor Hooper. Thank you for your efforts, and for keeping Sherlock's secret for so long. I know that must've been difficult."

Molly glanced up at Sherlock, then back at his parents. "I would do it again if I had to. I'd do anything for Sherlock." Sherlock could hear the softness in her voice and wondered if his parents were aware of it.

Anyway," Sherlock cleared his throat, "I brought you here to inform you of my engagement to Molly. I thought you should know before we announce it in the newspaper."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Engaged?" She blinked a little in confusion. Then her expression cleared. "Oh, I understand. You have enlisted Doctor Hooper's help again for a case, haven't you?"

Sherlock frowned. Why would she immediately jump to the conclusion that his engagement was fake? Then he realised that it made sense. He had always been adamant about the antiquated institution of marriage, and that he was not interested in any type of romantic relationship. "Mummy, this is not a fake engagement. I asked Molly to marry me last night and she accepted." He kept his tone firm so she would know he was being completely sincere.

There was silence for a few moments as his parents exchanged bemused looks and tried to process his words. Mummy spoke again. "And when is this wedding to take place?"

Sherlock glanced at Molly and she reached to slip her hand into his. He squeezed it reassuringly and looked back at his mother. "As soon as possible."

"Such haste? You spring this news upon us out of the blue and your father and I need some time to come to terms with it." Then her eyes widened and she gave him a suspicious look. "Have you got her in the family way then, that you wish to be married so soon?"

Sherlock could see the flush on Molly's face at that, even as he felt his own face burn. How ironic that his mother should go from thinking he had no desire for a romantic relationship, to thinking he was all of a sudden enjoying a lot of sex with Molly. "Molly is not pregnant, Mummy! The fact of the matter is, we have known each other for seven years and it took me much too long to recognise I was in love with her. We simply do not wish to wait any longer." He decided to add something, knowing it would definitely please his mother, although he hoped Molly was on the same page because they hadn't yet discussed it. "Besides, Molly and I are not particularly young. If you would like to have grandchildren in the future, I suggest you accept and be glad of the fact we wish to be married soon."

His mother's face broke out into a delighted smile, as he had expected, and she clasped her hands together, even as his own father looked pleased.

"Marriage _and_ children? I feel like all my Christmases have come at once!"

Sherlock ventured another glance at Molly, seeking her eyes anxiously. He was relieved with the gentle smile she gave him and the way she squeezed his hand. It appeared they were on the same page.

Mummy stood then and embraced first Sherlock, then Molly. "So, have you set a date?"

Sherlock decided Molly could answer this one. "Sherlock and I haven't had the opportunity to really talk about setting a date yet, but we plan to do so later this evening."

In that case," Sherlock's father spoke for only the second time, "we should leave you young folks to it." He stood also and shook Sherlock's hand, then gave Molly a hug. "Thank you for making my son happy." Sherlock just caught the words which had been said softly to Molly.

Mummy took a phone out of her handbag and spoke into it, making arrangements for the chauffeur to return and pick them up, even as Molly responded to her future father-in-law. "You don't need to thank me. Having his love is all the thanks I need."

Ten minutes later, Sherlock's parents had exited the flat and he and Molly were alone once again. He took her hand and began to lead her towards the sofa. "Well, should we sort out a date, then?"

Molly sat and looked at him. "Before we do that I think we should talk about that rather...intense kiss we shared at the hospital."

"Ah, that." Sherlock licked his lips nervously. He knew it was coming, it was just a matter of time. They had definitely been getting carried away. "I apologise, Molly. I allowed myself to get swept up in the moment. I'm still struggling to deal with these unfamiliar feelings now that I have reconciled myself to them, and my body is reacting in a like manner." He laced the fingers of one hand through hers. "You are more intoxicating than you know, Molly, and I desire you physically, I can't help it."

She bit her lip. "I know you do, and you have to know that I feel the same way. My body longs to be with you, but at the same time, I feel it would be wrong for us to consummate our relationship before the wedding night." She looked down at their linked hands and then back up at him with an anxious expression. "I want that night to be special and for us to recognise it as such. Can you understand that?"

He reached his free hand out to tuck some hair behind her ear, gently tracing his thumb along the back of it and to the lobe. "I understand. My hormones may be raging like those of a teenager in a way most men experience at a much younger age, but I respect you and our relationship too much to do anything precipitously."

"I know you respect me, but do you really understand why I want to wait, Sherlock? Can you deduce that?"

He contemplated the question. There had been little hints along the way in the way Molly spoke about her values and now he was quite certain of it. "It's because you're a Christian, isn't it?" He didn't really phrase it as a question, more as a statement of fact.

Molly took her hand from him and twisted her fingers together nervously. "Yes, I am. And really, I should probably be running away from you because you don't even believe in God. Being with someone who does not share the same belief as me goes against everything I've been taught, and I'm afraid that one day it will become an issue between us."

She looked down then, and he noticed the sheen of tears trembling on her lashes. He put his hand under her chin and tilted it up so that she raised her eyes to his. "I have to confess something to you, Molly. When I was worried about your reaction and whether you would believe me when I told you I loved you, I kind of made a bargain with God. I challenged Him and said that I would believe in Him if you forgave me." His lips quirked. "Then, this morning I spoke to God and said I was keeping my end of the bargain and I felt something. I felt a _presence_."

His thumb stroked her cheek as he continued to speak. "I don't know why I've denied God for so long, perhaps it's because I have never been able to believe in a higher power than myself, but I was wrong. My logical mind tells me that the events which occurred that eventually brought us together could not merely be chance, but that there was a purpose to them."

He heard Molly's sharp intake of breath and then she smiled. "That's wonderful, Sherlock! Do you think…would you be willing to learn more about what I believe, to go beyond just a belief in God?" She gave him a hopeful look.

"In what way?"

"You know, maybe come to church with me, even maybe take a look at the Bible?"

He blew out a long breath. "You drive a hard bargain, Molly. But you're worth it, so my answer is yes. I can't promise I'll believe everything I hear - I'm a sceptic by nature, but I do promise to have an open mind about it and weigh the evidence for your beliefs myself. Is that acceptable to you?"

Her answer was not in words as she leaned in to kiss him, and it was eminently satisfying.

The remainder of the evening was spent in setting a tentative date for six weeks time, making a small guest list, making a list of other things like buying wedding rings and planning to go to the Register office with all the required papers to state their intent to marry. While looking at the list of requirements for the Register office, including birth certificates and proof of residence, Sherlock huffed out a breath of exasperation. "I wish we could just elope. All this formality and paperwork is utterly ridiculous."

Molly laughed. "It is what it is, Sherlock, and you know I'd like a church wedding because I want it to be blessed by God."

"I know, love." Then his forehead creased. "Well, all this wedding planning is going to keep me away from doing too many cases over the few weeks, I suppose."

By the time Molly left to return home, after some very satisfying goodnight kisses, the wheels were well in motion for their big day.

As it turned out, Lestrade had a case for Sherlock involving the death of a young man who had been found in his burned out car at his parents' place when he had supposedly been in another country at the time. The case had been easy. Sherlock's sharp eyes had noticed a spot at the parents' residence that turned out to be a missing bust of Margaret Thatcher. It was intriguing, the potential of another case, but with the wedding coming up, he decided not to take too active a part in the mystery. He deduced the location of the other busts that were being targeted and a man was apprehended, someone who had apparently been searching for the Black Pearl of the Borgias, he concluded, without bothering to look into it further. He had more important things on his mind.

As the wedding approached, most evenings Sherlock and Molly would alternate between residences to spend time together. Sometimes they would talk about the wedding, sometimes they would spend a quiet evening in front of the telly, occasionally kissing and cuddling. That heady feeling of desire and passion for Molly was still there, but they were keeping to strict rules of behaviour together with one another, not indulging in marathon sessions of kissing. At times it was frustrating, because Sherlock was anxious to explore this new side of himself, and he knew Molly was struggling with it as well.

He had been attending church with Molly and seeds were being planted in his heart and watered. He wanted to believe. He wanted to have the same faith as Molly had, so he began asking her questions on what he was hearing and she would show him things in her Bible.

One afternoon, Sherlock asked, "Isn't faith just about living a good life and hoping for the best?" They were both sitting on the sofa in her flat, discussing the sermon they had heard in church about remaining faithful in times of adversity.

Molly shook her head and rose from the sofa, going to her bedroom and bringing back her well-worn and obviously well-used Bible. She sat down beside him and started flipping to a particular section as she said, "Faith is about so much more than hoping for the best, it is an assurance in what we believe, not merely hoping."

She handed the Bible to Sherlock and pointed to a chapter - Hebrews 11. "Perhaps this will help you understand a little better. Why don't you read it out loud? I love hearing the sound of your voice."

Sherlock nodded and complied, beginning with the first verse.

"_Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see._" He paused and looked at her. "Interesting analogy."

"It's not just an analogy, it's a way of living." she thought a moment. "Do you remember when you jumped off the building, how it felt?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Of course I do. I was afraid, but I knew I had to do it. There was a risk and yet I knew there would be a reward because my friends would be safe, even if I wasn't."

She stroked his arm gently. "Don't you see, Sherlock? You made a leap of faith, not knowing what was going to happen, but still believing the end result would be worth it."

"I think I'm beginning to understand." Her words had really resonated with him because she had used an example from his own life rather than just a theoretical premise to explain it.

"Keep reading the chapter. It's all about what people did in the Bible because of their faith."

Sherlock did so and was amazed. He wasn't familiar with many of the names, but he had heard about Noah and the ark at some point in his life, and, if the Bible were true, the man had certainly showed incredible faith in building that vessel.

And then he came to verse 13 and read it aloud. "All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth."

For the first time, Sherlock really took in what he was reading, acknowledging that was he was reading was not some kind of storybook, but actual historical events. And he began to believe it for himself.

Later that night, once he had returned home, upon Molly's recommendation, he began reading the New Testament using her Bible. Every spare minute when he was not with her or working, usually before he went to bed, he continued to read, and his heart was convicted by what he read.

After two weeks of reading about Jesus, the son of God who had been born of a human woman; the man who had performed miracles and then died on a cross to taken on the burden of humanity's sin and had been restored to life on the third day, Sherlock began looking online for evidence to support the claims of the Bible. He found the evidence of the resurrection on which hinged the Christian faith to be credible and he believed it to be true just as Molly did. His scepticism had become conviction and Molly's reaction to his change of heart was to throw her arms around him and kiss him fervently. Then she pointed out the following verse in the Bible:

**John 1:12** _Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God._

One week after that, Sherlock pledged his love to Molly in the church, in front of family and friends. At the conclusion they shared a kiss that was both reverent and tender and he felt the blessing of God upon their union.

All that Bible reading had been a good way to keep himself from giving in to temptation with Molly, but there would be no need for distraction tonight, Sherlock thought, as they walked hand-in-hand out of the church.

After the reception festivities were done, which included a little requisite teasing by John about the way Sherlock no longer needed John to be his child minder but had g grown up at last, and Sherlock and Molly arrived at their hotel suite, he carried her over the threshold and laid her on the king-sized bed, then went back to close the door.

Molly had kicked off her shoes as he had gone to close the door, and Sherlock did the same before he climbed onto the bed to lie beside her. He raised himself on one elbow and faced her, just looking at the woman who had changed his life in so many ways. His gaze travelled over the expanse of her voluminous gown. Molly had taken his breath away when she walked towards him in the church, looking like a fairy princess. She usually wore things that were comfortable and loose, so it was quite a change.

She was giving him a dreamy smile as he reached out and placed his hand at her waist. "Your waist is so tiny."

Molly giggled. "It's all an illusion; wearing a corset cinches in my waist and gives me shape in all the right places."

He looked admiringly at the way that invisible corset also gave her some rather alluring cleavage and reached a tentative hand to touch her bare skin there for the first time. Her skin was so creamy, so soft and he felt desire stirring within him. She trembled slightly as he ran his finger along the line of her bodice, and was fascinated at the sight of her chest beginning to rise and fall a little more rapidly, showing the cleavage to full advantage.

Molly moved a little closer. "Sherlock, would you stop looking at me and just kiss me already?" He liked the way her voice was a little breathy as she made her request.

"Let me get rid of that veil of yours first." He reached his hands up to fumble for the pins that held it in place, then tossed it aside. Without another word he put his arms around her to pull her closer towards himself, kissing her slowly, luxuriating in the fact that tonight there would be no need to hold back the desire burgeoning within him.

They kissed for some time, their hands roaming over clothed bodies, and he felt the slow build of passion rising within himself and Molly as well. And then, again without words, they began undressing one another.

Sherlock had some trouble with the corset, being unaccustomed to those unfamiliar hooks and eyes, but finally the task was done, clothes scattered on the floor haphazardly and they y gazed at one another, feeling both shy and yet excited about seeing one another naked for the first time.

Sherlock touched those sweetly rounded curves, kneading them gently, feeling how perfectly they fit in his palms, then he lowered his head to kiss them, and Molly made a little moan of pleasure as he lavished his attention on them. It was rather interesting how fascinating he found Molly's breeasts, when he had been unaffected by the sight of them on Irene Adler or any corpses he had examined in the past. He supposed though it was because they were part of the woman he loved and therefore he loved everything about her.

He returned to kissing her mouth and then their hands were exploring one another's bodies, this time feeling bare flesh instead of clothes. It was everything and more than Sherlock could have imagined. He loved feeling Molly's body, so soft and yielding, next to his own body. He savoured every moment, every little whimper that escaped his wife's mouth even as she evoked the same reaction with her own soft hands and eager touch.

Despite the need building within him, Sherlock made every effort to ensure that when their bodies were joined for the first time, Molly would be ready for him. When her cries finally spurred him on to be with her, he complied slowly, carefully, feeling the warmth of her body's embrace for the first time, glorying in it. When her nails dug into his shoulders and her body arched into his, inviting him without words, Sherlock allowed himself to be lost in it, to her.

Together they experienced the joy that comes in being with someone fully, in knowing the true intimacy and wonder of a love that is pure and blessed by God Himself, and they exulted in it.

When they both lay wrapped together in the contented afterglow of their passion, Sherlock pressed his lips against Molly's cheek and spoke softly into her ear. "If I hadn't given you that accidental love letter, Molly, where do you think we would be now?"

Molly turned her head slightly so she could gaze into his eyes. "Perhaps we wouldn't be here yet, but I do believe that God is a God of miracles and He takes an active part in our lives. I think at some point, God would have brought us together."

He trailed a finger down her arm then linked his fingers over hers, feeling the unfamiliar press of ring against ring. "I think you must be right. We were obviously meant to be, Molly Hoo- I mean Holmes." He paused. "That's going to take some getting used to, I'm so used to calling you Molly Hooper."

"I like being Molly Holmes." Her lips quirked. "I don't even have to change my initials."

Sherlock pretended to be offended and pouted at her. "So _that's_ why you married me, just so you could keep the same initials."

She gave him a seductive look, and removed her hand so she could swing inwards properly and press her body against his invitingly. "Mmmm, perhaps."

He gave her a mock frown. "Molly, we just finished making love, are you trying to tempt me into another session so soon?"

She lifted her head and curled her arms around his neck, pulling his head towards hers and purring again. "Mmmm, perhaps."

_Now this is a side of Molly I could definitely get used to_, he thought in amusement.

Then their lips met in a very erotic, very sensuous kiss initiated very well by his new wife, and Sherlock knew it wouldn't take much for him to be ready for session number two. He did have a lot of years to make up for, after all.

* * *

**Author's note:** And there you have it, another happy ending.

Did you enjoy the scene with the Holmes parents?

Did you like my slight canon divergence on the events in TST - no Mary murder looking in this one haha.

I didn't want to drag this story out long so I did move things along a bit towards the end. I hope you didn't feel it was too rushed.

We're you happy with the conclusion?

Those of you who regularly follow my work would be aware that this dream and the FWB one I published before it were dreams that occurred on the same night as shown in my Diary story, a dreams by Sherlock in this case and Molly's in the last story. If you read both, which one did you prefer and why? If you liked both equally, let me know that as well. What kind of stories resonate best with you?

A few moments of your time to leave me a quick response would be much appreciated.

I don't know how many of you are interested in the Christian aspect of the story. I suppose some of you wish it wasn't there but I will not apologise for it. Maybe you are a believer, maybe you are not. I know most of you will never publicly declare your feelings on the matter of faith. I'm just glad you are reading and I continue to pray that my readers will be touched in a positive way by what I write.


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